The Starfarer's Daughter
by Sweet September Storm
Summary: She was the girl in the crystal column: beautiful, silent, motionless...waiting. Waiting for him, Jonis realized. She had been waiting for him for a century. Mad, was he? Perhaps. But he knew what he had to do. Sleeping Beauty, re-imagined. ON HIATUS.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

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* * *

**

"He's gone _mad_!"

The pinging of meteorites on the steel surface of the ship did nothing to drown out the horrible truth. His mouth set in a grim line, the man at the helm gripped the console a little harder, ignoring the panicked speech from his companion. She hadn't needed to tell him of their crewmate's madness; the proof lay before him, as clear on the computer screen as it was through the bridge's forewindow. The blue surface of the planet beneath was drawing closer with every blast of the sabotaged engines.

"So what we do?"

If it were possible, the captain pressed his lips together even more tightly. They were bloodless now, as was the rest of his face. He spared his companion a glance that chilled her to the bone; it was the look of one who knows there is no hope left. "We save those we can," he said in an undertone. "If he hasn't gotten to them yet."

The ship shuddered violently and spun a little as the planet's gravity began to draw them into its fatal embrace. Steadying herself on the edge of the console, the woman shook her head. "He's disabled the thrusters for all the escape pods we had left." Her lip trembled as she spoke, but she did her best to master it. "If we send the others out now, they won't be able to pull out of the gravity field."

The captain did not respond for a moment. With one eye on the computer screen, he flicked through the ship's security logs. Finding the room he wanted, he enlarged the image. A young girl sat huddled in the middle of a laboratory, cradling the body of an older woman. There was no sound accompanying the log, but from the expression on the girl's face, he could tell that she was weeping. He could also tell that the woman was long dead. Turning his head away from the screen, the captain swore and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the tears flowed freely.

"She's gone." His companion placed a hand on his shoulder, her voice muted. "I'm sorry. He went after her first."

Inhaling sharply, the captain dashed the wetness from his cheeks and stood. If she was truly dead, there remained only one more thing to do. He looked to the woman at his side.

"Where is he now?"

She swallowed. "Headed up this way. He was behind me."

"Does he know you're in here?"

"I don't think so. I heard him, but I didn't see him. I don't think he saw me either."

"And the rest? Do we know where they are?" the captain asked, striding to the panel next to the door. His companion had jammed it shut upon her entrance; now he set to work opening it again.

She ignored his question, the panic rising in her voice once more. "What are you doing?"

"If he wants a fight, he's got one. He's going to have to face me man to man." His grizzled jaw clenched tight as his fingers sped through the disabling codes. "He's got to answer for Regina's death." A warning alarm began dinging throughout the bridge, and the captain spun to face the woman next to him. She was as white as the rumpled lab coat she wore, but she was calm again, her panic resolved. Her mouth was set in an equally grim line and her eyes were clear. "Did he kill any others?" the captain asked again, quietly this time. She shook her head.

"I don't know. I'm sorry."

He closed his eyes. "May their souls find peace." When he opened his eyes, she had taken his hand.

"Doctor…Albert…" For a moment it seemed she didn't know what to say. At last she pulled herself together and looked him in the eye. "What can I do?"

He tightened his grip on her hand. "Find my daughter. Take her to your lab. Use…" his voice trailed off and her eyes widened, knowing what it was that he wanted her to use.

"I have no idea if it works!" she protested. "It could _kill_ her!"

The captain shook his head, impatient. "Listen, please! I know you love my daughter like your own. I'm asking as a father and a friend…please, use it. If there's any chance at all…" A hint of pride crept into his voice, and the hard look around his bespectacled eyes softened for a moment. "She's strong…she's _special_. She might survive where others wouldn't."

The woman released his hand as a fearful clanging echoed through the empty bridge. It was accompanied by maniacal laughter.

"Doctor, DOCTOR! Someone to _SEE_ you now!" A voice that had once been human shrilled through the solid steel of the bulkhead doors, sending chills into the captain's very bones. It was impossible to tell by the sound if it was male or female, but there was no need to tell. He knew who it was. The insane laughter continued as the captain turned to his companion one last time.

"Celeste, listen. I'm going to open this door in a moment and let him in." He ignored the horrified expression that danced across her face and continued, his voice firm. "Keep listening. You stay as close to the wall as you can get. When I open the door, I'm hoping he'll rush in here." Something like cheerless humor pulled his mouth up in a failed attempt at a smile. "He is so keen on killing me, after all."

"Albert…"

He would not let her finish. The pounding on the door continued. "Listen! As soon as he gets past you, run. Don't stop, don't look back. I'll reseal the doors as soon as you're clear. Then…"

"And then he'll kill you!"

"We're all dead in twenty minutes anyway, Celeste! And this gives you a chance to find my daughter, okay? You're the only chance she has." He sighed deeply. "She should be in Regina's lab. Get her out of there and take her to your lab. Then…well, you know what to do then."

Celeste nodded, tears springing to her eyes as the captain turned to the door panel once again. "I do," she whispered. "I mean, I will. I _promise_."

The captain readied his hand over the final entry code that would override the door-seal command. He met his companion's eye one last time as she pressed herself against the wall, awaiting the fatal entrance of their former crewmate. He nodded. "Thank you, Celeste. Thank you." He brought his hand closer to the panel. "One more thing…"

She waited.

"Tell my daughter…tell her that I love her."

"I promise."

He pressed the button.

~o~

Celeste had no time to watch the entrance of their enemy; a dark streak rushed past her into the bridge, gibbering its fury in a lunatic tongue. As soon as it was in the room, she bolted.

As the captain had ordered, she did not look back. But she did hear the aching screech of metal sliding shut, followed by the thud of the deadbolts locking into place. The bulkhead was sealed for a second and final time, entombing the best man she had ever known with the worst creature she could ever have imagined. Unabashed tears flowed from her eyes as she ran, tracing the familiar patterns of the passage to Regina's lab. They would kill each other, likely as not, or draw out their struggle until the heat of reentry boiled them alive in the unshielded ship. Or, if their enemy had not managed to disable the heat-shield, until impact.

That would kill them all.

_Except her,_ she chided herself. _She will live. She deserves to live. This _is_ going to work._

Without slackening her speed, Celeste charged into the open door of Regina's laboratory…only to stop short at the scene that unfolded before her. The security feed had captured the image, but not a hint of the emotion poured out by the young girl embracing the dead body of her mother. Her heart breaking, Celeste took one step towards the pair, noting the unnatural angle of Regina's head. That _animal_ had snapped her neck.

"Sweetheart?"

The girl looked up, her face surprisingly blank. But it was the fullness of pain that smoothed the contours of her expression rather than the absence of it, as only those who have touched the bottom of despair can understand. "We're going to die, aren't we?" she asked in an undertone.

Celeste knelt beside her acutely aware of the little time they had left. "You have to come with me now, all right?" Sadness flooded through her as she glanced at the broken body of her friend, clutched in the young girl's arms. "Your father needs you to come with me."

"He's still alive?" A hint of hope crept into the girl's voice.

Celeste pressed her lips together and seized her hand. There wasn't time. "Hurry!" she cried, pulling the girl off her feet and wincing at the undignified way Regina's body crumpled to the ground. "I'm not going to let you die!" Surprisingly, the girl gave no resistance, though Celeste knew she could if she wanted. Though no longer a child, Albert and Regina's daughter was certainly stronger than her size belied. Grateful she had chosen to follow without question, Celeste dashed through the halls to her own lab. There…well, there would have to take place a miracle.

They arrived in under a minute. Celeste slammed and sealed the doors, well aware that she would never leave the room alive. Quite to her shock, her mind was clear and sharp; the mathematical precision of the thing she was about to attempt had chased away all unwanted emotion. Panic was gone; duty remained. Duty to her dead friend. Duty to the man that had saved her life—at least temporarily—at the price of his. Duty to save the life of their daughter. She spun to face the girl.

"Sweetheart? You need to listen to me. Don't ask questions, all right?"

She nodded, struck dumb with terror and grief.

"Good." Celeste drew her over to a corner of her lab, towards the ominous glass cubicle she had been working with for nearly three years. Opening the door to the chamber, she placed the young girl on the square of black steel in the very center and told her to hold very still. "It'll be over in a second. I promise."

Instead of protesting or pestering her with questions, her subject stood rigid, breaking her silence only to ask what she needed to do.

"I'm going to have to close this door in a minute. You're going to feel something cold coming up around your feet. But I need you to keep your eyes on me, all right? This is important. Don't look down."

"Okay."

At the sight of her calmness, Celeste could not help a few more tears from pooling in the corner of her eyes. It was true when the captain had said she loved this girl like her own daughter, and it struck her to the heart to think how trustingly she went into that glass chamber, awaiting whatever Celeste would bring upon her without blinking an eyelash.

Even if that thing might kill her.

Celeste gritted her teeth as she shut and sealed the door. Backpedaling to her control console, she surveyed the system analysis. Supplied with its own secondary electric circuits, her lab had remained operational in the midst of their crewmate's sabotage. The readings indicated full functionality of the chamber, with activation awaiting the touch of a keypad. Her hand hovered over the control for a moment, and she raised her eyes to the girl's, remembering her promise.

"Can you hear me?" Celeste asked.

She nodded.

Celeste was weeping freely now, her subject's innocent face no more than a salty blur. "Your father…your father said to tell you that he loves you."

And then, with a flick of her finger, the process began.

Icy cold liquid crystal began flowing upwards from the implanted tubes in the base, swirling in sickening eddies as it edged up the girl's leg. She winced and shivered but obeyed Celeste's order. Her eyes showed a multitude of emotions, but she focused on the woman outside the glass chamber. "Good girl, sweetheart. You're doing…" All of a sudden a violent shudder racked the ship from bow to aft, throwing Celeste on the floor and slamming the girl against the glass panels. "Hold still!" Celeste shrieked, pulling herself to her feet. "Don't move!" Her hand descended on the control panel and the speed of the liquid trebled. In a moment it had reached the girl's chest. Celeste took a deep breath and steadied herself for her final instructions. "Okay, love, this is it. In a second it will be over your head, and I'm going to need you to do something really hard."

"What?" Her voice was panicky, though she made no movement to try to escape. Celeste sighed.

"I'm going to need you to take a deep breath when the stuff reaches your nose."

"_What?_"

A second, even more violent shudder sent the two reeling. Celeste rose from the floor with blood on her forehead, but she continued speaking as if nothing had happened. "You have to breathe!" The liquid was now up to the girl's neck, and she looked terrified. "Trust me, sweetheart, you have to!"

"I can't!"

"You have to!"

"I…" But the clear substance had reached her mouth. Her eyes widened, and Celeste could see she was about to lose control.

"NO! Breathe! Sweetheart, it's the only way you're going to make it out of this!" Still the girl held her breath. As the liquid closed over her head, her hands flew to the glass walls, searching desperately for a way out. "_Please__!_" Celeste begged. "Do it for your parents!"

The girl ceased moving, and for a very few seconds, everything was still.

Then several things happened at once.

A deep and throbbing creak echoed through the entire ship—the death knell of many tons of metal torn to pieces by the furious forces of gravity.

The far wall of Celeste's laboratory exploded inwards as the structural integrity of the ship was compromised. Shrapnel and flames spat themselves into the room like bullets, tearing through Celeste's abdomen as she turned to protect the console.

The girl in the chamber, blinded by the sudden explosion, reached up instinctively to protect her face and chest. Unable to hold her resistance against the sudden shock, she took a deep breath.

Celeste saw that the girl had inhaled at the same time she saw the fatal shard protruding from her side. But there was no pain, at least not yet. There was only the child's survival. With the last of her strength, she entered the code that would complete the process. The calm computer voice that announced the imminent destruction of the ship was drowned out by the roaring of flames, the torquing of metal and the small, satisfied sigh of a dying woman at peace.

_She'll live. We are lost, but at least she lives._

~o~

The twisted and burning remains of the once-glorious spacecraft fell, like a smoking star, through heavy atmosphere and roiling clouds, to the cold and uninhabited shores of an abandoned planet.


	2. Ghost

~ Chapter I ~  
**Ghost**

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* * *

**

Jonis Locherman wondered for the fiftieth time that day why he had allowed his brother to talk him into taking this job. It was uneventful, unappreciated and _very_ underpaid. He shouldered his flashlight and grunted to himself, his scratchy uniform even more irritating in the stuffy air of the Museum. _The least they could do is turn on the AC, _he thought to himself._ But then again, what do they care if a night guard gets too hot? It's not as if he's anyone of importance._

In fact, the Royal Council of Antiquities had just that day decided against the installation of an automated security system for the Museum, though Jonis had not yet been informed. And even if he had, it was doubtful that he would be excited that his job was secure for the indefinite future. _At least they keep the lights on,_ Jonis admitted, scanning the strip of rope lighting attached to the base of the wall. The exhibits each had their own display lights. He rounded the corner of his last circuit; one more room and then he would begin again.

It was the Terran Room, Section E7. The marble pillars rose to the second story in this section, and in the center of the circular ceiling hung the great bronze replica of the long abandoned planet. Jonis always took his time patrolling E7; he could not deny that it was a most fascinating exhibit.

That is, _she_ was a most fascinating exhibit.

Jonis checked each display case around the perimeter for the little green light that signified all was well. Duly inspected, he moved to the inside of the room. The artifacts surrounding the centerpiece showed nothing amiss. At long last, he turned to her.

The Terran Lady had single-handedly made the Museum the most popular visit destination in the world for three years running. And every night, as he checked her security, Jonis was reminded again that she was the most precious artifact in the Museum. Her stand alone had enough pressure sensors and alarms to secure the entire room, let alone her single exhibit. Jonis could only go about re-setting the green light with the utmost caution.

Still, he could understand. She was beautiful. The team of archeologists who had discovered her had determined it to be the best example of the lost art of holography ever found among any of the civilizations of the Old Planets. The block of crystal in which her image was embedded was one-and-a-half times the size of a man and an arm's length square. The hologram of the Lady rested a few inches above the base. Jonis had seen her many times before on his nightly rounds, but she still had the power to steal his gaze for longer than he could spare it. After many nights of missed checkpoints, Jonis had adjusted his circuit so that she was the last exhibit he checked. That way he had more time to admire her.

Her figure was similar enough to the women of his world, but there was something about her expression that gave no doubt to her alien origin. Her eyes were closed, her face unreadable. She appeared to be draped in a robe of some grayish material, but Jonis was sure he had seen it shine iridescent in certain light. Her long hair was loose and trailed behind her, as if the model for the hologram had been caught in a breeze. But it was the Lady's unusual gesture that had once engendered so much curiosity to her identity. One arm was wrapped protectively around her torso, and the other was raised towards her shoulder, palm open, facing upwards. Her head was bent down, and if her eyes had been open they would have stared into her open palm. Long, dry essays had been written by the most advanced interstellar anthropologists about what her gesture signified. Was it an ancient Terran greeting? A sign of supplication? Had the creator of the hologram intended it to be a more personal gesture? Was it his wife, perhaps? Might she have been with child? No one knew.

Jonis circled the Lady twice. As always, he was impressed not only with the loveliness of the subject but also with the skill with which her image had been captured. From all angles, not a single point of light, not a color, not a shade was out of place. If it had not gone against all common sense—not to mention all scientific knowledge—Jonis could well have imagined that she was the real thing._ The last survivor of a long dead world, _he mused. _Too bad for her._ He rounded her pedestal one last time and switched on his flashlight, ready to begin his circuit once more.

"You've got more admirers as an image than I'll bet you ever had in life," he murmured, addressing the silent figure. For a moment Jonis felt foolish. He had never yet been so bored with his job that he had to _talk_ to the exhibits. And yet, there was no one there to laugh at him. The Lady certainly wasn't. He shrugged to himself and touched his flashlight to his forehead in a gesture of farewell. "I'll be seeing you in a few hours," he said, turning to go. Section E7 was secure.

_Let…me go!_

Jonis' flashlight swung up to his shoulder. He reached for his taser, peering around the room for the source of the request.

"Who's there? I'm armed!" he warned aloud.

But nothing and no one answered him.

It took several minutes of silence for Jonis' heart to steady, though he continued to feel the effects of adrenaline sharpening his senses. The little green lights on the exhibits' security panels flashed an all clear. He lowered his flashlight, wondering if he had imagined the voice. Pinching himself, Jonis snapped the light back onto his belt. _Strange._ Cautiously, he backed out of the room and tapped in the security code for the section, stating his name for the time log. The lights on the wall snapped to red, signifying that the motion sensors were active. With one last bewildered survey of E7, Jonis continued on his circuit.

The rest of the rooms were quiet and uneventful. The minutes on the great clock ticked slowly away, and at an hour past midnight, Jonis returned to the Terran Room. He disengaged the room's master motion sensor and began resetting the individual alarms.

_Let me go, Jonis Locherman._

The blood cooled in his veins and his heart started to pound. That he had _not_ imagined. Flashlight and taser came out in one practiced motion. "Show yourself!" he cried. He whirled to the center of the room where he had the best view of the surrounding exhibits. "I _will_ shoot!" he threatened the invisible intruder.

But once again, no one answered him.

Jonis frowned and counted to twenty in his head. Nothing like this had ever happened on any of his previous watches, and for a moment he wondered if one of the other guards was playing a trick on him. He had an urge to radio his supervisor, if to only hear another human voice. But he decided against it; Hendricks would ask what was wrong, and then Jonis would have to think up a plausible explanation for his call that did not involve a disembodied voice. His imagination had never been good, so he pocketed his radio and hefted his flashlight for the last round of the night.

* * *

Jonis did not sleep well that next afternoon, though he tried to convince himself that it was due to his poor judgment that morning. At dawn, as soon as his shift had let out, he and a group of his mates from the Museum night-watchman detail had agreed to meet at an all-night diner for dinner and drinks. They stayed well into the morning, though Jonis found that he did not enjoy himself as he usually did. The memory of the ghostly voice was dancing at the back of his mind, but he took care to push it well aside and out of his consciousness. Returning to his apartment, Jonis had fallen asleep on his couch, without even bothering to change out of his uniform.

He woke to brilliant sunshine pouring in through his open windows. Groaning at the combination of his stupidity and aching head, he pulled his blackout shades across the offending brightness and collapsed in a wrinkled heap on the couch. Stretching himself out, Jonis blessed the darkness and did his best to fall asleep again. But he had no such luck, even with the shades drawn. Yet it was not exhaustion that kept him up. Though he took care not to admit it to himself, he knew it was his fear of the dream that kept his tired eyes open and his mind treading the regret-filled paths of the past.

At long last, he gave up. It was no use pretending; he rolled to his side and flipped on the morning news. Stories of discontent from within the Chartered Nations filled the newscaster's teleprompter and scrolled across the bottom of the screen. Good news from the Council's reconnaissance mission to Delta Centauri Prime received only a brief nod; the station was far more concerned with the shocking and the salacious to bother with any success stories.

Reaching his capacity for grim announcements and veiled portents of doom delivered by impeccably dressed reporters, Jonis muted the sound and rolled on his back. He stared at the ceiling, unable to avoid the memory anymore.

It was a dream that bothered him and troubled his sleep. A recurring dream. A dream from his past.

Jonis sighed, frustrated with his inability to control his emotions on the subject. For years after his disgrace he had managed to suppress the regret, the shame, the anger. By the time he had taken the night-watchman's post at the Museum, he thought he had forgotten it. But nearly a month ago it had all come back—and vividly—in the fractured scenes of his nightmare.

It began in a lecture hall. One of many he had frequented at the University's medical school, indistinguishable from any other. It was an evening class, and Jonis sat near the front. The professor was speaking, but no matter how hard Jonis tried, he could never manage to understand what it was he said. Knowing he would fail without accurate notes, Jonis tried harder, often moving closer to the front to do so. But nothing made a difference.

Then, inevitably, when he was at his most confused, the professor would call on him.

It was then that Jonis would remember the paper. His committee-assigned dissertation. The blessed guarantee of a scholarship that would pay off all his medical school debts. The summation of all his long years of torturous education and crushing expense. His ticket to everything he had dreamed of having, of doing, of living…

And he had forgotten it.

This was where the dream varied. Sometimes he had left it at home, sometimes he had slipped it in his bag and forgotten the bag on the train, and sometimes (these were the worst of all) he had forgotten to start his dissertation at all. But the consequences were always the same. Sickening panic, followed by deep, burning shame and ended in anger. Pure, blind rage. He often ran in this part of his dream, though things generally got confused. Sometimes he felt as if he were running, but then he would look down and realize he had not moved at all. More often, though, he would wake up at that point, shielding his eyes if he had forgotten to shut the blackout curtains and feeling claustrophobic in the dark if he hadn't.

All in all, it was an exhausting dream.

But he had gotten used to it, Jonis admitted grudgingly to himself. Suffering through the disorienting scenario several times a week for the past month had cured him of his first shock, and though unwanted, it was no longer unexpected.

_So why am I so upset this morning?_ he asked himself.

Unfortunately, he knew the answer to that as well.

For his dream had been different this time. It had started the same, but when the professor began to speak, there was no sound. Jonis had looked around the classroom, but there was no noise from the other students either. In fact, they sat at their desks as mute and as stone-faced as statues. No one moved, no one spoke and, after a moment's study, Jonis realized with horror that no one even breathed. He turned back to the professor, terrified. But he had stopped moving as well.

Jonis had tried to stand, but his legs were paralyzed. He tried to scream, but no sound came out of his mouth. Though unconscious, he could feel the sweat beading on his forehead. The silence grew painful.

Then, all at once, someone said his name.

It was the disembodied voice from the Museum, ringing clear and bloodless through the silent air of his troubled memories.

Jonis had woken with a scream in his throat.

~o~

Jonis did not want to go to work that night. He had never loved his job of guarding the Museum, but neither had he loathed it. Sometimes it was frustrating, but it was never unbearable. Some of his closest friends were fellow guards, and together they made the best of it. But now, with his nightly circuit tinged with the memory of that horrible voice, Jonis could hardly bring himself to change into his fresh uniform, let alone drive to the Museum and check in with his supervisor. It took all his practicality, arguing all the way with his emotions.

_If I miss a night, Hendricks will dock my vacation time, and probably my pay as well. I can't afford that. Besides, I'd have to give him some legitimate excuse for skipping. And how am I going to come up with that? 'Sorry, Hend, started hearing things? I just couldn't bear to patrol a room with a ghost in it?' Please. He'll send me for counseling. And then dock my time off. Nah, I've got to do this. It was probably all in my head anyway._

Still, he couldn't resist the shiver that ran through his spine as he deposited his gear in his locker. The voice had seemed so_ real_. So desperate. So…

He holstered his taser and clipped on his flashlight with a grunt. _Stop thinking like that, idiot! You have a job to do, so man up or go home._ Wordlessly, Jonis obeyed his self-motivating speech and clocked in. The Terran Room was waiting, after all.

Despite his mental assertions, however, Jonis felt himself trembling as he crossed the threshold of E7. He scanned every visible inch of the room before deactivating the motion sensors, just to be on the safe side. Nothing but ancient Terran artifacts greeted his wary gaze, and he allowed himself to relax a little. "You are a fool, Locherman," he mumbled.

_Jonis Locherman?_

His heart just about stopped in his chest. The hand that pulled the taser from his belt was shaking like an autumn leaf, and his mouth was dry. "Who…whoever you are…show yourself! I am armed and I _will_ shoot!"

_But what have I done?_

"You are trespassing on Museum property," he answered, forcefully steadying his voice. He spoke louder as he moved towards the center of the room, collecting his wits as best he could in the face of the spectral sound. "You are in violation of section 7a of the Governance of Antiquities charter," he recited. "Come out with your hands in the air and I will escort you to the authorities."

_I have done nothing! Why do you imprison me? _

"Where are you?" he cried again, sweat breaking out on his forehead.

_I do not know, Jonis Locherman._

"How do you know my name?"

_You say it every night._

"Who are you?" he yelled, trying to restrain the creeping sense of panic. If this were only a prankster or a thief, he knew could handle them easily. The Museum spared no expense in training their guards to deal with any incursion, and Jonis could hold his own in a fistfight. _But if it really was something else…_ Jonis swallowed. Tasers, as he recalled grimly, were not certified to immobilize ghosts. "Why can't I see you?" he asked, weapon still trained on all possible hiding places.

_I'm right here! How can you not see me?_

Jonis gritted his teeth. "No more games!" His voice had risen in pitch, and he knew he was close to losing himself in panic. Taking a deep breath, he gave the invisible intruder an ultimatum. "I'm going to give you ten seconds to come out with your hands in the air, or I trigger the alarm."

_Why…?_

"One."

_But I _am_ here, Jonis Locherman!_

"Two."

_I have always been here!_

"I told you, no games! Three!"

_But you spoke to me earlier! You _know_ me!_

"What are you talking about?"

"_You've got more admirers as an image than I'll bet you ever had in life."_

Jonis went rigid. He remembered those words. The voice was not speaking—it was reciting. Reciting the very thing he had said the night before…to the Terran Lady. Unable to stop himself, he turned to the massive crystal exhibit in the center of the room. Jonis felt the blood drain from his face. "That's not possible," he whispered.

_Yes! Yes, Jonis Locherman! I am here!_ The flashlight and taser fell from his hands and he backed away from the Terran Lady. She continued to plead with him._ Please._ _Let me go!_

It was all he could do to respond, unsure whether or not he was hallucinating, living his nightmare from the morning or functioning in reality. "How…how…w-what are you?" he managed at last, fingering the talk button on his radio. If he pressed it, his fellow guard Jonne would be there in under a minute.

_What do you mean, Jonis Locherman? _

"You…you're not real."

_Why not? Of course I am! I…_

But Jonis would not let the Lady finish her thought…if indeed it was the hologram _thinking_ at all. He snatched his flashlight and weapon from the floor and made a break for the door, entering the security information in record speed. The red light blinked in acceptance and overrode the missed entry on the Terran Lady exhibit. He took a deep breath and holstered his taser with shaky hands. From a distance, the Lady looked perfectly normal. Jonis swallowed repeatedly to get a hold of his panic and turned away from E7 with a determined step. But after just three paces, he found himself running.

Disobeying protocol, Jonis avoided the Terran Room for the rest of the night, setting the perimeter defenses at the doors and walking away as quickly as he could. Even that took all his courage. Jonis knew that, if not for the fact that Hendricks would fire him if he left his post, he would have fled the Museum long before the end of his shift.

* * *

The next morning Jonis woke in his apartment with his taser in easy access on his nightstand. He groaned as he checked the clock; it had only been four hours since he had returned home from the Museum. Still, after many attempts, he could not go back to sleep. This time, it had not been the dream that kept him up; indeed, he had not suffered through the nightmare at all. What he had to deal with in real life was far stranger than any dream. He lay with his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling, considering the events of the night before. Somehow, in his own apartment, with the morning sun streaming in through his window, the fact that the Terran Lady had spoken to him seemed far less frightening than it had in the silence and half-light of the Museum. Yet Jonis could not get her voice out of his head, and there it retained some of its terrifying impossibility.

_Let me go._

_Let me go._

_Let me go, Jonis Locherman._

The voice had sounded so real, so _frantic_. But why in the world would he imagine something like that? He had no special interest invested in the Terran Lady; he guarded her exhibit for pay, after all. Sure, he had admired her, but why would that translate into a hallucination of this magnitude? It made no sense. Jonis frowned. Could he be ill? Brief though it had been, his stint in medical school had not been terminated for lack of interest. Pushing aside the familiar regret, Jonis analyzed his mental state of the past several days. _The dream. I've been having that nightmare. Could that have morphed into this somehow?_ He had not specialized in psychology at the University, so he hadn't the slightest idea how to answer his own question. But it gave him an explanation at which he could grasp. _It's either that, or I'm going crazy._

He did not like to think about the second option.

~o~

Worry for his sanity caused Jonis to check into the Museum's central guard station that night with even more reluctance than usual. Jonne, his fellow watchman, noticed his strange behavior.

"You all right, Locherman?" he asked, strapping on his flashlight and taser.

"Yeah," Jonis answered automatically. But at a second thought, he stopped his friend. It would be easy enough to discover here if the whole episode had taken place in his head. "Jonne, you've taken the E7 circuit before, right?"

"'Course." Jonne lowered his voice. "You need to switch?"

Jonis shook his head. "No. I was just wondering if you've ever…" he paused, realizing he would have to phrase this carefully. "I was wondering if you've ever heard anything strange in the Terran Room."

Jonne shot Jonis a curious glance. "Like what?"

"Oh. I don't know. Something buzzing—I was wondering if one of the alarms might be malfunctioning," he lied, losing his nerve.

"Nope." Jonne frowned. "I'll ask Hendricks to check the specs," he assured. Jonis nodded, feeling guilty for not trusting his friend. But he didn't want his coworker doubting his sanity. Jonne was a good man, but he was also a dutiful employee. If Jonis told him he was hearing voices, he would have to tell Hendricks. Then Jonis would probably be put under observation, and he would certainly not be allowed to continue working. Especially if that work involved bearing a weapon. _I'll wait to judge for myself, _Jonis told himself firmly. He shouldered his security vest, clocked in and began to make his way towards the Museum proper, well aware that every step took him closer to the Terran Room and its crystal inhabitant that was certainly testing his sanity.

~o~

Jonis checked and double-checked every exhibit on his circuit, drawing out the time until he would have to face the Lady again. Part of him was already convinced that he had had imagined the whole thing; part of him quailed at the thought that he might in fact be losing it. Yet the only other option was so absurd that it was nigh unthinkable. The coward in him wanted to pass by the room altogether and put off the answer as long as possible. But his overriding rationale wanted to know—to know for certain and to be rid of the maddening debate. So at precisely the stroke of eleven, he typed in the section code for E7 and entered the Terran Room.

It was quiet. Nothing had changed from the night before. Discarded food wrappers and other bits of trash left over by careless tourists had already been swept away by the janitors, and the room was clear. The lights on the perimeter exhibits blinked green in their turn, and the security cameras had not moved from their watchful positions over the entrance and exits. But Jonis could not help the uncomfortable doubt that lodged in his throat as he came at last to the central exhibit. _Moment of truth, Locherman. _

He placed himself in front of the Terran Lady…

And smirked as nothing but silence met his ears. "See?" he murmured to himself, twirling his flashlight and bending his head to tap in the code. "Perfectly sane."

_Jonis Locherman?_

He froze, hand on the security panel. The voice bounced back and forth between the walls of his mind, and Jonis could not stop himself from raising his eyes to the famed figure. She was as still as ever. "That's not possible," he said, imagining the straps of the straight-jacket tightening around his chest. _That's where they put people who've lost their minds, right?_ For there could be no doubt—whatever it was, this was not coming from his imagination. If Jonis had ever been sure of anything, he was sure that he heard those words. And he knew that that meant his days among the sane were numbered.

_Jonis Locherman? Are you there? Speak to me, please!_

Certain he should run from the room—and from the voice—Jonis nevertheless felt compelled to answer. "Who are you?" he demanded, taking a step back. _It's strange,_ Jonis thought in passing, _how rational a madman might think to act in the face of his delusions!_

_My name is Phoebe,_ she replied (if it were truly the Terran Lady he was conversing with in the first place.) Jonis took another step away from the crystal column.

"What do you want?"

_I want to be free._

"Free from what?"

_Free from this place._ Jonis felt something akin to hope flowering in his mind, and he shuddered. It was certainly not _his_ hope; he had none left. Whatever the emotion was, it too was part of his hallucination. The voice spoke again. _Can you help me?_

Jonis' throat was dry. He swallowed, moving back another few feet. His head spun and he felt himself rehearsing a plan to check himself into the hospital. "You aren't real," he answered as if to remind himself. "I…I have to go." Jonis turned to the exit.

_Wait! Please, don't leave! _

But Jonis kept walking.

_What can I do to make you believe I am real?_ The voice in his head was pure desperation. And despite himself, Jonis found he could not take another step. Though everything in him fought against it, he turned again to the mysterious figure. Lunatic, unhinged, mad as he was—as he _must_ be—he could not deny such a plea. It was too heart-wrenching.

"Move," he answered, voice hushed. "Show me you're alive and I'll believe you."

_I can't move. I don't know why, but I can't. Ask something else of me._

_Do my hallucinations defend themselves? _he thought in amazement at the wretched product of his own mind. "I need to go," Jonis said again, shaking his head. Drops of sweat trickled down his forehead, nearly blinding him. But he had not the time to blink them away before he could feel her response. Black spots like ink flickered in front of his vision, spreading until he could see nothing at all. He cried out as a dozen vivid images poured through his mind. _A vast gray sky…the face of a smiling man with wide spectacles…a flash of lightning…the clouds breaking over an endless expanse of blue water…strange constellations seen through primitive telescopes…a young girl laughing in excitement…the rush and explosion of an ancient Terran space craft…an unintelligible stream of frantic conversation…a woman in tears…the press of cold steel…fire and darkness…and then…_nothing.

Complete silence. Not even the sound of thought.

Then, after many ages—or it might have been only the fraction of a second—Jonis began to regain his senses. He could still feel nothing, but his ears tingled with the least vibration. Noise flooded through his mind, thousands of people chattering all at once. Gradually he learned to distinguish different voices. But there were so many, and they were all in a strange language…he listened carefully until the words made sense. He tried to move, but it was as if he had no body to direct. There was only the blackness, the voices that rose and fell with the setting of the sun, and…and…

But what was this? A new sensation…as if his thought had congealed…and become a sixth sense. A _useful_ sense. He could hear someone walking nearby.

"You've got more admirers as an image than I'll bet you ever had in life." The voice was ghostly.

_Help! Help me!_ He cried silently. _Let me go!_

"I'll be seeing you in a few hours," said the voice again. It was fading.

_No!_ He tried reaching out with his strange new sense. _Let me go!_

Jonis' eyes flew open. He fell to the floor, his hands spread in front of him to keep him from pitching forward. He was dizzy and felt sick to his stomach. The inky spots disappeared from his vision and his thoughts were returned to his own control. Very cautiously, he sucked in a breath and sat back on his heels. The entire episode had taken no more than the space of a heartbeat.

_Do you believe me now?_

He hardly had the strength to look up at the Lady. "All right," he panted, resting his hand against the marble wall to steady himself. "I believe you."

_Then let me go, Jonis Locherman! Please! You felt what it is like! I want to be free from this!_

But it was too much. Jonis heaved himself to his feet and ran from the room.


	3. A Question of Madness

~ Chapter II ~  
**A Question of Madness**

**

* * *

**

Jonis did not report for work the next evening. He had tried to drive himself to the hospital the night before, but his shaking hands directed his car down the familiar streets to his apartment. Once he climbed the stairs to his door, he knew he would not be coming down again for a long time.

_I am mad. Truly, certifiably insane. To imagine…to even _think_ something like that…_

Whether he wished it or not, the night's episode played and replayed itself in his mind like a broken record. The clarity of her voice, the sharp flood of emotion that was most certainly not his own, the vivid images that took him beyond the blue curve of his home planet…

_Stop it! _he pleaded with his own memories. _You know that cannot be real!_

But as the lonely morning hours drew into the golden afternoon and the afternoon into the evening, Jonis couldn't even be sure of that anymore. His troubled mind would give him no peace. Reason and experience fought with each other, catapulting Jonis through a vicious circle of proof and disproof, sense and nonsense, fact and fantasy and cold hard reality.

_Think about what you're implying. If what you heard was real, then the Terran Lady must be real. Alive. Think about that!_

_Well, what if she is?'_

_But it's impossible! Physically, scientifically and every other way impossible!_

_Then what did I hear?_

_How can you answer that? You're crazy! You can't be expected to think rationally! _

Jonis' arguments got him nowhere. He figured he couldn't trust his conclusions anyway, so at the end he was no better off than when he began. As night drew on, he tried to sleep, but the images of the alien world were too fresh in his mind. And her _voice_… Her voice continued to echo in his head. It was not the same as it had been when he stood next to her, but he had a good memory.

_Let me go._

_Please Jonis Locherman!_

_You felt what it was like! I want to be free from this!_

_Phoebe._

_My name is Phoebe._

_My name is Phoebe._

_My name is Phoebe._

~o~

Three days of such torture passed until Jonis could stand it no longer. He had told his supervisor that he was sick, and at the end of those three days, that was no longer a lie. He had not been able to sleep for more than a few minutes without being woken by the memory of the things he had seen and heard in the Terran Room. His nightmare was now in the waking world. Jonis' head ached—the continual debate made it hurt worse than a hangover—and he couldn't bring himself to eat. For hours he would sit, staring at the ceiling or at a shelf of books, not seeing, not moving, not thinking. At least, _trying_ not to think.

But he could not help himself. The _'what ifs?' _taunted him, hung at the edges of thought until he knew he must go crazy. Then they were there close and thick, pestering him and prodding him, forcing him to imagine what would happen if he was _not_ mad, if he had heard the truth in the Terran Room.

_What if she…Phoebe…what if she is alive?_

_What if the entire world has swallowed a lie?_

_What if I'm the only one that knows?_

_What I'm the only one who can hear her?_

_What happens if she dies?_

_What if?_

_What if?_

_What if?_

_But…what if I'm wrong? _

Jonis lingered on this last thought the most of all. It was too incredible, too farfetched. Too megalomaniacal to even _think_ it could be true! To think that the _Terran Lady_—Museum exhibit of world-wide fame, mysterious object of scientific and social controversy, priceless artifact and property of the Royal Council of Antiquities—was, in truth, the sole survivor of a long abandoned planet…and a very frightened, very lonely young woman named Phoebe…it was the height of insanity.

_But…_

_WHAT IF? WHAT IF? WHAT IF?_

_Could it be possible?_

He quailed at the choice before him.

The rational, well-trained scientist in him scoffed at the notion, holding up a multitude of proofs gathered from the reports of the very anthropologists who had discovered her. _No human being could survive such a stasis. Tests run on the exhibit have displayed no signs of life. And no Terran technology yet encountered by Agaetians could have possibly created such an object. The idea is thoroughly laughable!_

But another, equally rational side countered those proofs with the proofs Jonis had gathered with his own senses. _There is no other explanation for the things I heard. I would not imagine something like that. And I _know_ I heard her._

_Hallucination! _the first side cried. _You_'_re__ insane!_

_Then why am I thinking so reasonably?_ his argument answered._ Besides, if I'm insane, how can I trust my own proofs of insanity? I probably wouldn't question it at all._

_But you ask to accept the unacceptable!_

_I could not see those things she showed me on my own. Maybe I am losing it…but if I am, there's definitely an outside force that's facilitating this. I have no reason to hallucinate about the Terran Lady. And that means I'm right. Either I'm not crazy and she's alive, or I am crazy and she's alive. That's how I see it._

And his rationale gave no answer; he was tired of arguing with himself, after all. So at long last, when he had exhausted every other recourse, Jonis was surprised how easily his mind accepted such an unthinkable fantasy.

_The Terran Lady. The impossible woman from across the stars. The lonely child from another world. Phoebe._

Jonis threw up his hands to signify the end of his maddening dance with that which could not be. "Oh fine!" he said aloud, not caring if his neighbors heard. In fact, he no longer cared if the whole world heard. "She's alive!"

But it was the corollary to the idea that set his blood running hot and cold at the same time. _She's alive…and she wants to be freed. _Jonis remembered her plea and amended his statement. _She's alive and wants _me _to free her._

~o~

Another day of restless debate passed before Jonis reconciled himself at last to the weight of that idea. It was another uphill battle between two sides of reason, but he managed to win it. _She asked me. No one else has ever spoken of this before. Unless…_ Jonis had the sudden image of another guard like himself, struggling with a question of madness in his lonely apartment after hearing Phoebe's voice in Room E7. But that man—if he existed—had done nothing. _It's all up to me, _Jonis decided at last, wondering at the sudden sense of responsibility that descended on his fevered head.

Yet Jonis felt no comfort in that. No matter how surely he had convinced himself of Phoebe's existence, it still seemed impossible for him to help her. Hundreds of scientists from all over the world had examined her 'hologram' and discovered nothing. There, his already thready plan hit a snag. For if all academia—and everyone else, for that matter—believed the artifact at the center of their greatest Museum and the picture in their children's textbooks was nothing more than an ancient and priceless pillar of crystal, Jonis' cry would fall on deaf ears. _Who will honestly take my word over theirs?_ he wondered. _I'm doing all I can to believe this myself!_

The familiar twinge of anger and regret twisted in Jonis' heart at the thought of the scientific world he would be challenging. The same world that had thrown him out once before would have no scruples in doing so again. Yet a strange sort of calm settled over him as he finally made up his mind.

Yes, he was mad. He _must_ be mad. But he would go before the Royal Council of Antiquities and tell his story nonetheless.

That night was the first he slept in three days.

* * *

The Council Hall was impossible to miss. In the great Plaza dar Mond, the two ornate buildings faced each other across the pavement—the Council Hall and the Museum. From his apartment nine blocks away, Jonis could see the tips of the spires that announced to the world the prestige of the Council. He needed no directions to get there.

It was the fifth morning since Phoebe had so forcefully introduced herself to Jonis and driven him—well, driven him either into madness or pulled him out of it. He couldn't tell which was which anymore, and he had long since stopped caring. Jonis rose with the sun, showered off the collected grime of the past few days and dressed. He even managed to eat breakfast, though his mind was far from thoughts of bacon and toast. His mind was occupied in choosing his words for that morning, and choosing them _carefully_. Jonis knew he would only have one shot at convincing the Council.

By the last stroke of eight o'clock, Jonis stood on the steps of the Council Hall. He plunged inside without glancing at the arching entryway and its intricate carvings. It was surprisingly quiet in the vaulted marbled atrium. Rushed though he was, Jonis could not help himself from gazing up in wonder at the fantastic mosaic of the domed ceiling, depicting the history of the Charter of Alliance and the Royal Council in multi-colored stone tiles.

"Sir?" The clipped tones of a harried receptionist brought him back to the task at hand. "May I help you?"

Jonis tried to smile at her, but it felt weak and insincere—and it looked as if she could care less. He settled for a more business-like manner and straightened his suit jacket. "I'd like to request an audience of the Council, ma'am."

The receptionist raised an eyebrow but directed him to an alcove on the far side of the atrium, next to the wide wooden doors that Jonis assumed led to the Council Chamber. "I'll schedule you as soon as possible. The Council is in session until this afternoon." She checked something on her computer pad and pursed her lips. "You may be waiting for a while. There's an opening an hour before noon…"

"Excellent."

"…for fifteen minutes."

"Oh." _Fat lot of good that's going to do me!_ he thought.

The receptionist's penciled eyebrow went even higher on her forehead. "Would you like me to put you in?" she asked.

_Still…it would be better than nothing. _Slowly, Jonis nodded, resisting the urge to run his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Go for it."

"Very well. Your name, sir?"

"Jonis Locherman, J-o-n-i-s L-o-c-h-e-r-m-a-n." He had suffered through too many misspellings of his name to allow a stranger to copy it by ear alone.

"And may I ask what this would be regarding?"

For a moment, Jonis panicked. _What do I say? 'My concerns about the Terran Lady?' 'The impossible truth that all you blockheads have somehow missed all these years?'_ But he took a deep breath and refused to let the panic grow. "Museum business. I'm a night guard and I've seen something that the Council needs to be made aware of.'

It was clear that the receptionist retained a very low opinion of Jonis as she entered the information on her computer, but she held her tongue and invited him to make himself comfortable in the alcove. Jonis followed her instructions and sat, wondering if, when the moment came to it, if he really would have enough courage to say what he had set in his mind to say.

He had ample opportunity to wonder. Three hours later the receptionist motioned for him to go in. With a sigh and a shake of his shoulders, Jonis stood and went to the entrance to the Council Chamber. After a brief screening for weapons, a dark-suited security guard opened the doors and nodded him inside. Jonis entered slowly, doing his best to calm his shaky limbs. _It's all or nothing, Locherman. All or nothing, right here,_ he reminded himself as he walked forward to face the tribunal of portly and withered-looking old men and women. A secretary stood as he entered and read his name off her computer pad.

"A Mr. Locherman, ladies and gentlemen. On Museum business." The girl sat again and tucked her stylus behind her ear, waiting for him to proceed. One of the men nearest Jonis half-turned in his chair at the name. His fine dark suit betokened a wallet as large as his considerable girth, and his red face glistened in the heat of the stuffy room. Jonis could feel the beads of sweat standing out on his own forehead, but his hands felt clammy cold. Butterflies danced in his stomach.

"Well, then Mr. Locherman, state your business," a tall man said from the center of the semi-circle. He stretched out his arm and gazed at his watch in an extraordinarily lazy way. He reminded Jonis of a cat stretching itself in front of a fire—pampered and unwilling to trouble itself in the affairs of others. "You have fifteen minutes," the councilman announced.

Jonis shrugged his shoulder once and steadied his nerves for the fatal pronouncement. Sucking in a deep breath, he began. "I'm a night guard in the Museum, ladies and gentlemen, and I wanted to bring something to your attention…regarding the Terran Lady."

The heavy heads that had been slumped against propped arms rose instantly at the mention of their precious exhibit. Jonis knew how jealously she was protected, and he hoped to use that interest in her to his advantage.

"Yes? What of it?"

"I think…I believe she may need…some further tests," he tried. "I've, ah, noticed some unusual properties about her…it. Your anthropologists might want to take a look."

"What sort of _properties_ are you talking about, boy?" a particularly harsh voice asked from the left.

Jonis cringed at the condescending moniker but cleared his throat. He knew what the councilors reactions would be to his next words, and he knew what else would follow. But he was determined, at the very least, to make an attempt. "Possible…acoustic properties," he tried.

There was a snort from among the graybeards. "_Acoustic_? As in, you're hearing things?"

"I am not hearing things, sir," he protested. "And you must admit she wasn't tested for anything like that. You might want to…"

"Not likely." A stern voice cut him off and the tall man stood—lazily, again, like a cat. "Son, that artifact has been studied from top to bottom a hundred times over, and none of our scientists have found that it possesses any sort of…acoustic qualities, as you call them," the head councilman informed him. "And the Museum cannot afford to take it off display to look for something we know is not there, based solely on your word." The councilman sat again and shuffled the papers in front of him, clearly moving on to other matters. "But the Council thanks you for your concern, Mr. Lakeman," he added dryly. "Good day."

But Jonis was not finished. "I know what I heard, _sir_. And it's Locherman." Desperate, he decided to lay everything on the line in the hopes that he might shock even one among them to listen. "She's not a hologram."

The room fell silent, and even the secretary looked up from her notes.

"_Pardon_?"

"She's alive."

There were several seconds of taut silence. Then—dreaded, but not unexpected—the entire Chamber broke out in laughter. Jonis stood and took it full in the face without flinching. In his heart of hearts, he knew their reaction was inevitable. Even he would admit it sounded ridiculous without the proof of Phoebe's voice ringing in his memory.

"You, son, need to take some time off," the harsh voice recommended.

"Have you been to a psychiatrist lately?" a shrill councilwoman asked with overplayed concern.

The youngest member guffawed openly at the night guard. "And are any other of our exhibits coming to life without our permission?"

But there was one face among the group that did not smile. It was the fat man at the end who studied Jonis so intently, the red-faced Wallet of Considerable Girth. If Jonis had bothered to look, he would have seen the man's eyes flash in sudden recognition. "What did you say your name was?" he asked, his sharp tone piercing his comrades' laughter. The merriment quieted in an instant.

"Locherman. Jonis Locherman." It would be useless to lie; the secretary already had his name.

Wallet of Considerable Girth stood, his eyes flashing. "I knew I knew that name from somewhere," he muttered. Then, raising his arm, he pointed to the man before him. "Aren't you the Jonis Locherman that was expelled from the University for stealing the thesis for your dissertation?"

The familiar tug of shame and regret wrenched his insides at the man's words, but he let no sign of show on his face. Yet the damage had been done. They _knew_—for he could not deny it—and everything he had said to them was now rendered worthless. The plagiarer, the liar, the thief…that's all he was now.

_And all I'll ever be._

The atmosphere of the room, though before it had been merely tolerant, now became positively hostile. The academians drew back in horror of the man before them, as if their colleague's accusation had transformed him into a vile insect before their eyes.

"That will be all, young man," the head councilman said. His voice was cold, stern and dismissive.

Jonis turned on his heel and left.


	4. Desperate Action

~ Chapter III ~  
**Desperate Action**

* * *

That night, Jonis checked into the watch station at exactly quarter to nine. He was glad to see none of the other guards about; there would surely be uncomfortable questions if he were seen. Jonis heard the scenario play out in his head.

_"Locherman! You're back! You all right?"_

_"Oh yeah, fine. Just lost my mind there for a moment. Hey, did you know I was kicked out of medical school for cheating? Really? You didn't know? 'Cause the Council does. At least they do now. Oh, and by the way, the Terran Lady isn't a hologram. She's alive; her name's Phoebe, actually. I can introduce you if you'd like."_

_"Jonis Locherman, you need some help."_

_Or something like that, _he concluded. Jonis shook his head and took his security vest down from its locker. There would be enough time to process the events of the past few days on his circuit.

"Locherman! You're back!" Hendricks' curly gray head shot up from behind the bank of camera screens. Jonis' heart skipped a beat. "And you're early!" his supervisor added, puzzled. "Nice to see you."

"You too," Jonis murmured in response. He strapped on the vest and made for the door to the Museum.

"Wait up a sec!" Hendricks cried, easing himself out from between two monitors and into Jonis' path. He held up the night's chart. "Your route's been changed."

He stopped short. "What?"

"Yeah. It's uh..." He shuffled some pages and frowned. "Hold on. I just saw it. The boss gave it to me when I got in. It's...here." He held up the clipboard for the guard to see. "G3."

Jonis frowned. G3 was on the third floor, almost as far back as one could go without leaving the building. And there was certainly nothing there of interest. "Why the sudden change?" he asked, disguising the suspicion in his voice as frustration. "Who's taking the E7 circuit?"

Hendricks flipped through the chart again. "Uh, that would be Seirza."

Jonis raised and lowered one shoulder in a forced gesture of nonchalance. He knew Sarah Seirza; she and Jonne had once been close. Though the end of their relationship had put Jonis in the awkward position of middleman, he had tried to remain friends with Sarah. Yet Jonis could not understand why she had been chosen to take his circuit. Jonne was his usual replacement, as he covered E6. "Did the boss say why?"

"It wasn't the boss' order," Hendricks answered him with a sharp glance. "Came from higher up."

Something chilly set itself under Jonis' skin at the words. _Higher up. That would be the curator. And he reports to the Council._ Jonis wondered if they had been so efficient to demote him after only a few hours; clearly, they had the authority. He tightened his vest rather forcefully. "Fine." The door to the parking garage opened and the other guards began to stream inside. Jonis snatched the codes for G3 from Hendricks' hand and ducked out of the station.

_Do they think I'm dangerous to her?_ he wondered as he climbed the stairs to the third floor. _Please! I'm the only one in the world trying to help her!_ But he remembered that to them, at least, he was crazy. He passed the door to the second floor. _Well at least I'm not so 'crazy' as to break her out myself, _Jonis thought in defiance towards his absent oppressors. But the instant the thought slipped into his consciousness, he regretted it. For until that moment, he had not considered taking Phoebe's freedom into his own hands. Now that the idea was planted in his mind, Jonis could see, as clearly as if it had already happened, how the idea would torture him either into action or true madness. He knew it would be impossible to forget, and yet it seemed impossible to carry out. And still, somewhere deep inside, a seed of doubt gnawed against what he had already deemed to be a firm belief in Phoebe's existence. _What if I'm wrong? What if this is all some elaborate hallucination? What if she _is _only a hologram? _To act, then—to do the unthinkable, to harm the Museum's most prized possession—would have dire consequences. Jonis pushed open the door to the third floor with more force than necessary. The nine o'clock chime reverberated through the silent Museum and Jonis began his circuit of G3. But his mind was far from the natural history of Agaetis.

~o~

The trouble was, he had so _much_ time to think. It took little brainpower to punch the numbers to the individual exhibits, and even less to circle endlessly through his assigned rooms. Though he rarely wandered through its entirety, Jonis knew the Museum as well as his own apartment; the half-lit corridors of G3 presented him with nothing new to explore. And as the hours crept by, the persistent idea allowed him no peace.

_I'm not even patrolling E7 anymore. There would be no opportunity…even if I dared…_

_Sarah would switch. She owes me._

Jonis didn't argue that point. She _did_ owe him. But the reality of what he would be attempting, even if he should regain access to the Terran Room, shocked him back to his first argument.

_What if I'm wrong?_

For a moment, Jonis let his imagination run wild with the possibility. If Phoebe did not exist and he defaced her exhibit, the world would show him no mercy. He would be fired, of course, but that would be the least of his worries. Publicly ostracized, hated and imprisoned…for what? Ten years? Twenty years? Life? Jonis sneered at himself. If he did what was in his mind to do, he would _want_ to be in prison for life. At least there it was unlikely his cellmates would care that he had destroyed the most priceless artifact and work of art in history.

_Maybe I can claim insanity. 'Cause if I'm wrong, I _am_ crazy—even I'll admit that._

And then, just to draw out his maddening debate, he thought of the second possibility.

_But what if I'm right?_

Jonis' chest tightened at the memory of the images Phoebe had shown him. Her strange, beautiful world, the sight of an alien ocean and the reverberation of extraterrestrial thunder, a million unknown stars, excitement turned to terror at the sound of an explosion, fear and adrenaline and then…nothing. Of anything he had felt from her—of anything he had ever felt in his whole life—that absolute nothingness was the most horrible. If Phoebe truly had existed for a century or more in that nightmarish state, Jonis knew he would do anything to free her. If his worst enemy were trapped as she was, he would do no less.

_Could I really have imagined that?'_

The midnight chime rang out through the marble halls. Five more hours in his shift. Then...

_Then what?_ he wondered. _I'm not going to escape this by leaving the Museum._ Jonis let out a long sigh, suddenly weary. He set the two arguments aside for the moment and made a decision. _But I'll at least see if Sarah is willing to switch._

* * *

The first blush of dawn was toying with the horizon when Jonis reported back to the watch station. He removed his security vest and taser belt as slowly as he could, keeping the corner of his eye trained on Sarah's locker. Five minutes, then ten minutes ticked away on the clock. She had yet to come down. Frowning, Jonis abandoned the charade of cleaning his weapon and motioned for Hendricks' attention. His technical supervisor was hunched over a breakfast sandwich in the corner of his booth, reading the news. At Jonis' gesture, he folded the paper.

"What's up?"

"Has Seirza checked in yet?" Jonis asked.

Hendricks raised his bushy eyebrows and chuckled. "So eager to get back to your old job?" Jonis forced a smile as Hendricks perused the list. He hoped his intentions were not so transparent. "Yeah. Sarah came by a few minutes before you. She just left."

"Thank you!" Jonis called over his shoulder. He was already halfway out the door.

Hendricks' eyebrows crept even higher on his forehead. "You're welcome," he muttered and returned to his paper.

~o~

Jonis was grateful the watch station had its own access to the Museum's parking garage; it made certain that the night guards parked close enough to each other to see at a glance who was absent. He let his eyes jump from a pair of nondescript sedans to Jonne's truck, searching for Sarah's vehicle.

_Please, please let her still be here!_ he pleaded silently.

"Locherman!" someone called "Hey, Jonis!"

It was Jonne. Jonis half turned, still searching. "Hey Jonne. Have you seen Sarah?"

Jonne caught up to his friend and slapped his shoulder. "Well welcome back to you too! What were you, dying? You've never missed a night before," he reminded Jonis, ignoring his question.

"I was sick." He gave no further explanation. "Has she left yet?"

Jonne held up his hands, knowing Jonis well enough to sense that he did not want to discuss the details of his absence. "Fine. And no, I haven't seen her. I think she checked out a little early."

Jonis made a triumphant sound in his throat as he caught sight of a blue bumper. "See you tomorrow Jonne!" he tried, hoping to talk with Sarah alone. Jonne narrowed his eyes but broke from Jonis' side.

"Sure. Bye."

A twinge of guilt flickered through Jonis' mind, but he knew Jonne was not the type to read too much into any of his moods. If Jonis' manner gave offense, Jonne would let it slide. _That's why he's such a good friend, _Jonis mused. He ducked between Sarah's van and the car next to it. She was seated in the driver's seat, hands on the wheel, keys on her lap. He tapped on her window and she jumped, startled. He motioned for her to lower the window, noting the peculiar expression with which she regarded him. She fumbled with the lever for a moment before the glass began to slide down.

"What's up?" she demanded.

"I needed to ask you something."

"What?" Her tone was curiously timorous.

Jonis scratched his ear. "I, uh, I need to ask you to switch with me tomorrow night. I'd take E7 and you'd take G3."

Sarah frowned and shook her head. "You know we can't do that. Hendricks will have my head if he found out."

But Jonis wasn't ready to give up. He leaned against the edge of the door. "Sarah, I'm sorry, but I'm going to call in the favor you owe me on this one."

She grimaced and arched an eyebrow. "You want to cash _that_ in for _this_?"

He grinned. "Yeah. And I promise to take the heat if Hendricks or anyone else gets on your back about it."

Sarah's expression grew thoughtful again. "Why do you want E7?"

If Jonis had not known her better, he would have missed the strange tone with which she asked the question. But he did know her, and he caught it. It made him stop. He noticed again the peculiar expression in her eyes. It was...fearful? Or merely disbelieving?"I had trouble with some of the codes in G3," he lied. "Are you okay?"

Sarah nodded forcefully. "Yeah, fine." She paused. "It's weird," she added in a rush. "I thought I heard someone calling for you on my circuit...I don't know. It's just weird," she repeated.

Jonis stepped away from the window, feeling…he knew not what. She had heard someone calling for him. Someone calling his name. _Phoebe._ He had to swallow several times before he could answer in a normal voice. "Really? Did they say anything else?"

Sarah gave him a bittersweet smile. "You don't think I'm crazy?"

Something inside him, triumphing over this confirmation of his sanity, wanted to laugh out loud. But he forced an expression of nonchalance and shrugged. He would at least put her mind at ease. "Nah. It's a boring job in the middle of the night. If we all didn't start hearing things, I think I'd be worried." He waved, backing away from the side of the van. "Thanks for switching. I'll see you tonight."

Sarah inserted her key and her reply was lost in the churning of the van's underbelly.

~o~

Lying on his bed that morning, Jonis' excitement began to ebb. He had proof of Phoebe's existence; or, at the very least, he had Sarah's testimony that he was _not_ insane. She had heard Phoebe's voice too. But that was it. _Phoebe was looking for me, _Jonis realized._ She must want to know what happened to me._ Jonis frowned. _But why didn't she talk to Sarah?_ The answer came unbidden, and he stilled at the thought. _She trusts _me_. She's depending on me because she thinks she knows me the best._ And that made sense, as far as Jonis could tell. He had had the E7 circuit almost since the beginning of his employment at the Museum; if Phoebe had wanted to speak to anyone in the past three years, it would have probably been him.

_But now what?_ he wondered. _I have the E7 circuit for one night. What can I do? Do I just tell her I can't get her out and apologize? _But his conscience rebelled against that idea. _Does that change anything? She's still alive; she's still trapped in there. I just become the coward who won't risk my lousy job to save her._ Something noble in his character prickled at the thought of such a flimsy excuse standing between that girl and freedom from her hellish prison. He knew he would never be able to live with himself if he gave up now and left her to that…existence. And he would always _know_, of that Jonis was certain. Even if he ran to the other side of the world, he would remember Phoebe.

The sun had not yet reached its zenith before he made his choice. He _would_ free her. _Come what may, _Jonis swore to himself, _I'm going to get her out of there. Somehow._

* * *

He just didn't realize how difficult that 'somehow' would turn out to be. The following night, after a surreptitious trade-off with Sarah, Jonis hurried through the other exhibits in E7 so as to have as much time as possible to study Phoebe's prison. Nothing in the room had changed since he had last made the circuit. The recessed lighting cast familiar shadows on the marble walls, the little green lights flashed on each display case and the Terran Lady rose silent and majestic in her crystal prison below the bronze replica of her home planet. Jonis came towards her slowly.

"Phoebe?" he said, his voice struggling to break above a whisper. There was a moment of silence and Jonis held his breath.

_Jonis Locherman? _She threw out the name like a lifeline.

"I'm here," he assured her. "I'm back."

_What's wrong? What happened?_

But he shook his head. "There's no time for that. I only have a few minutes."

_Will you help me?_

"I'm trying." Jonis took a step back and studied her exhibit. In all the time he had spent in the Terran Room, not once had he dared to touch the famous block of crystal. But even to his untrained eye it was clear that it could withstand a serious battering. Not a seam nor a chip marred its flawless surface. He could think of no way to gain entry. "Phoebe?"

_Yes?_

"I'm going to need you to try and remember something, okay?"

_What?_

He took a deep breath. "I need you to try and remember what happened before..." He stopped. _Before what? The accident? The attack? Before, for all intents and purposes, you died?'_The memories she had given him of those last moments were chaotic. "What was the last thing you remember?" he amended.

It took awhile for Phoebe's voice to work its way into Jonis' mind. When she spoke, he could feel her pain_. I remember feeling scared. I remember running...we were on a ship. A big ship. There had been a celebration. Then something went wrong. There was an explosion. I heard people shouting, screaming, and then…she took my hand and ran with me. She took me to her lab...she was crying. She told me my father loved me. There was another explosion. After that…_

Her voice trailed off in his head. Jonis decided against asking who 'she' was; he was running out of time. As gently as he could, he pressed her. "After that…what happened?"

_That was the last thing I remember seeing. She was crying. I felt something cold...and then there was nothing. _

Jonis did not need to be reminded of that memory. "That's all?"

_That's all._

The room's alarm began its warning chirp. Jonis had to continue on his rounds. "Phoebe, I have to go." He could feel her protest rising in his head. "But don't worry. I'll be back tonight."

_You promise_?

He nodded, making his way for the door. "I promise."

~o~

Jonis set a new record his second time and third times through the circuit. As he punched in the exhibit codes, he considered Phoebe's memories. _She says they were on a ship. A big ship. The last place she remembers is a woman's lab...and feeling something cold. That could be significant, right? _he asked himself. _Whatever that stuff is she's in now must have been in that lab. So what is it? _Jonis bit his lip in contemplation.

The trouble was, he had never taken up an interest in space travel. Even as a medical student his focus had been strictly terrestrial. Add to that the unknown factors of ancient Terran technology and he was at a loss. What he knew was gathered from reading excerpts of the reports made by the team of scientists that had discovered her, and even that was slim. They had determined the substance to be a sort of Terran mineral that defied classification, and left the naming to the media. Newspapers had called it a 'giant crystal' and 'the most magnificent diamond known to humankind.' _But what if it's not natural? What if it's synthetic?_ Jonis wondered_. Then can it be broken? _To find the answer, he would need another look. _Another look, and for Phoebe to remember something else._

But she could remember nothing else. Jonis greeted her with his question as he ran his eye over the transparent surface. Despite all his imaginative efforts, he could think of no tool that would be powerful enough to shatter it. _Even if I had the strength to wield it._ "Are you certain there's no more?"

_I'm sorry, Jonis Locherman, but that's really all I can remember. It was such a long time ago..._

He stopped her, not needing to be reminded of the impossibility of her existence. "All right, all right. Nevermind."

Phoebe did not answer him for a long moment. When she did, her voice was plaintive_. You sound worried. Where am I, Jonis Locherman?_

He furrowed his brow. Apparently he had forgotten to tell her. "You're in a Museum, Phoebe. You're...you're an exhibit." The words sounded horribly unfeeling as they left Jonis' mouth. He bit his tongue. "Sorry."

The equivalent of a sigh rippled through his mind. D_o you think I'll care once I'm free? Wherever I am, please, just get me out!_

He raised his eyes towards the ceiling in frustration, glad she could not see him. He understood her desperation, but he was working as best he knew how. "I told you, I'm..." But at the sight of the great bronze globe, he stopped short. _Could it really be so easy? _he thought, breathless at the idea that suddenly sprang into his head.

_What? What's wrong?_

But Jonis didn't answer her. He glanced at his watch. This was his last scheduled stop in the Terran Room that night, and if he didn't move in the next minute, the timed alarms would start their warning buzzers. If he stayed for more than three minutes, the system would alert Hendricks, who would call Jonne to check the circuit. And if Jonne found Jonis in Sarah's place, they would both get in serious trouble. _But if I don't act now, I may not get assigned to E7 for days...weeks, even. She can't wait that long! _Feeling feverish with the weight of the sudden choice he had to make, Jonis calculated the position of the exhibit. It was perfectly centered below the globe. If brought down, the five hundred pound replica would crash squarely over the top of Phoebe's prison.

Jonis did not wait for his reason to catch up with his imagination. Without wasting time to explain, he broke into a mad dash for the stairs. The steel cables that tethered the bronze globe were secured to the balcony of the second floor in the shape of an 'x.' One stretched from north to south; the other from east to west. They met in the center of the hollow globe. If two ends were dislodged from the supporting wall, the weight of the replica would do the rest. It would hardly even have time to swing out, he realized. Impact would take only seconds.

There was no time to think, only to act.

Jonis hefted his heavy flashlight in his hand as he slid over to the first cable. At the first blow the cable trembled, reverberating like a guitar string. At the second, he broke the head of his flashlight. Swearing to himself, Jonis flipped his flashlight and continued. His minute was up. _Three minutes until Jonne gets here,_ he thought. _Still enough time to back out of this. _But at that moment, the head of the screw that held the cable broke away from the wall, sending the loose wire hissing into the open air. The globe heaved and sank. Jonis uttered a cry of triumph.

_What's happening_? Phoebe thought to him as he ran to the final cable_. What are you doing?_

Jonis continued whacking at the hapless screw head as he answered her, no longer bothering to keep his voice down. "I'm getting you out of there!" he crowed. A sudden thought flooded his mind as the globe groaned and sank lower_. What if this crushes her as well?_ His blood ran cold at that thought_._ _But it's pretty pointless to stop here, so far as I've come._ _She wouldn't want me to,_ he decided. "Get ready!" he warned aloud. The cable twanged and buckled in its death throes.

"_Jonis_! What are you doing!"

Jonis' eyes snapped across the room to the other side of the balcony. Jonne was watching at him, horrified. His weapon was unholstered in his hand.

_I guess my time's up. _Jonis continued his battery of the cable without answering his friend.

"Hendricks, call the master alarm, _now!_" Jonne ordered into his radio. "And send backup to the Terran Room!"

_Who is that_? Phoebe thought, panicked at the sudden onslaught of strange noises.

Jonne's boots clattered on the marble floor as he sprinted around the balcony. "Jonis, _stop_!"

The master alarm began its keening shriek throughout the Museum.

"Locherman, that was an _order_!" The guard from E8 pressed the muzzle of his weapon against the back of Jonis' neck. Jonis had not heard him come up from behind. He froze, his hand in the air above the end of the cable. Jonne waved for his fellow guard to join him in front of Jonis, their weapons trained on his neck and chest. Their faces were twin masks of horror.

"What are you doing?" Jonne asked again, voice hushed in confusion and undisguised betrayal.

Jonis ignored the question and narrowed his eyes, considering. _One more solid hit and this thing's going to give. But if they pull their triggers before that, I'm screwed._

"Drop the flashlight, Locherman," the E8 guard ordered. "And step away from the balcony. We're going to take you back to the watch station until the curator can get here. Otherwise, you're under arrest."

"Do as he says, Jonis," Jonne warned.

But Jonis only set his teeth and brought his flashlight down on the cable screw one last time.

"_Hey!_"

The globe made a sound like a bellowing elephant and plunged towards the ground and Phoebe's prison.


	5. The Effects of Gravity

~ Chapter IV ~  
**The Effects of Gravity**

**

* * *

**

The globe landed squarely on top of the crystal pillar. For a moment, the sickening crunch of bronze and glass drowned out even the shrill cry of the master alarm.

Jonis held his breath, no longer worried about what Jonne or the other guard would do or think. Their attention was, for the moment, drawn far from the traitorous guard they held at taser-point. The two watched in gaping silence as the Museum's priceless treasure cracked under the immense weight of the replica.

But it did not shatter.

The globe had crashed into Phoebe's prison with the force of a battering ram, just as Jonis had expected. But he had miscalculated the strength of the crystal—or rather he had taken for granted the angle of the glassy surface that faced the ceiling. If it had been faceted as the sides were, the blow would have undoubtedly been enough to destroy the artifact and free its occupant. But the top was flat. This presented a greater area for the globe to strike, but it also diminished the overall force of the blow. So instead of shattering, the crystal splintered, sending a thousand hairline fractures throughout the column.

The heavy bronze replica fell away from Phoebe's exhibit, leaving its destructive goal half done. It rolled lazily through the display cases of half a dozen other artifacts before coming to rest against the far wall. Jonne swore softly under his breath, too horrified to move. The E8 guard was very white. With shaking hands he turned to the man responsible.

"_You_…"

But Jonis was not there.

"_Hey!_"

When Jonis had seen that the globe was not going to free Phoebe, he wavered on a split second of indecision. _That's it. That's all I had, Phoebe. I'm sorry. _But with this thought came a wave of guilt, and his resolve hardened once more. _No! I've come this far! This can't be the end!_ Taking advantage of his companions' distraction, he ducked beneath the muzzles of their weapons and ran for the stairs.

"HEY!"

Jonis ignored the sound of pursuit. He descended the stairs six at a time and skidded onto the slippery marble floor. "Phe…!" he began.

"Stop." His headlong rush towards the Terran Lady was arrested by the steely gaze of Hendricks' cold gray eyes. Jonis hardly had time to register the shock of seeing his placid supervisor wielding a weapon before his arms were seized from behind. Jonne kneed his friend to the ground and Jonis felt the unforgiving steel of the restraints cinch tight around his wrists. For a moment, the shrilling of the alarm was the only sound that echoed through the marble halls. "Why, Locherman?" Hendricks said at last in an undertone. It seemed to be the only question he could form.

Ignoring the query, Jonis considered his supervisor's sudden presence in the room. Hendricks' uncharacteristic appearance outside the guard's station could only be explained by the gravity of the situation; privy as he was to all the security footage, Jonis figured he must have left his station as soon as Jonne called the master alarm. Jonis knew Hendricks; the older man was fiercely dedicated to his job of protecting the Museum, and Jonis could see in the grim set of his supervisor's jaw that his assault on the Terran Lady was unforgivable. Arms pinioned behind his back, Jonis cast a glance at the three faces above him. _As if I thought it would be anything else,_ he reminded himself.

"Why?" Hendricks said again.

But Jonis did not answer his supervisor's question. Jonne had pushed him to the ground in front of the damaged exhibit, and through the web of cracks in the crystal, Phoebe's face was still visible. His resolution hardened once more. Knowing that she could hear the action taking place outside her prison, he decided to let her know he was still trying. "She's alive, Jonne! I have to get her out of there!" he cried, rising to his knees.

A sharp blow to the side of his face sent him sprawling on the floor. The guard from E8 readied his fist for another strike in case Jonis attempted to move again. "You've lost your mind, Locherman," he muttered through clenched teeth.

Jonis caught his breath and slowly heaved himself up. The master alarm continued to ring through the Museum. "How long till they get here?" Jonne asked Hendricks quietly. The older man gave Jonis a pained and venomous look.

"Minutes. And I called the curator, too."

Jonis sucked in a breath. "Jonne, Hendricks, hear me out!"

E8's knuckles met Jonis' jaw for a second time. "Shut _up_, you…!" But he never finished his order. As Jonis sprawled on the floor once more, the master alarm fell silent. In its echoing absence, E8's words broke off sharply.

"They're coming," Hendricks remarked, keeping his weapon trained on the traitor.

"Hend…" Jonis began, desperate. But he too was prevented from finishing his thought.

It was a sound that interrupted him. _A secondary alarm?_ he thought at first. But it couldn't be; there were no redundant systems. At first it seemed to come from everywhere, from the air or from the very marble itself. Jonis shook his head as it rose in intensity and noted that the others heard it too. They looked at one another in puzzlement, their attention divided between Jonis and the new noise.

"Is that supposed to happen, Hendricks?" E8 asked the older man.

"No." Hendricks frowned. "It's not."

"The police sirens?" Jonne suggested, clearly uncomfortable with the piercing pressure of the mysterious sound.

"We wouldn't hear it in…in here…" he said, his voice breaking through the noise at irregular intervals. He frowned. "I…don't know…what…_the…?_"

The pitch rose to impossible heights, drowning out Hendricks' cry. The older man was the first to drop his taser and cover his ears.

"WHAT IS THAT?"

Jonis looked up, unable to use his hands as his supervisor had to block out the sound. Head throbbing, he raised his eyes to the windows above them, awaiting the fatal resonance. No pane of glass could withstand such a terrible battery of sound; he expected them to shatter at any moment.

But they didn't.

Quite suddenly, the sound changed. It had been before merely a single wordless note; now it took on the ecstatic agony of feeling. It had all the discernable layers of a voice crying out in great pain.

_JONIS LOCHERMAN! HELP ME!_

All at once he understood. It was Phoebe screaming in their heads.

Jonis tried to stand. "Jonne! Let me go! She's dying in there!" He turned to his friend. But Jonne had fallen to his knees, his head in his hands. Hendricks was sprawled next to him, and Jonis could not tell if he was conscious or not. The guard from E8 had stumbled back against an exhibit, shaking his head in a desperate attempt to block out the sound. They paid Jonis' pleas no attention.

Clearly, he had to stop Phoebe before they could be of any help. Gritting his teeth, Jonis turned to the damaged exhibit once again, fighting the pain her piercing shriek caused in his head. "PHOEBE! Stop screaming!" he cried. "You're killing us!"

_GET ME OUT OF HERE!_

"STOP screaming!"

Her cry ceased. Jonis gasped in relief, still on his knees. But after a moment of silence, her whispered voice worked its way into his head.

_Help me. Please._

It was even more painful to listen to than her scream.

The fractures continued to edge through the crystal, coming ever closer to Phoebe's frozen image. Jonis rose and stood in front of Phoebe's splintered prison as the entire exhibit groaned and made a sound like a shot. The cobweb of cracks came within a hair's breadth of her face, and Jonis went rigid as he saw the faintest trace of red pulsing through the shattered prism by her feet. If he didn't act soon, Phoebe would be shredded by the gradual settling of the crystal. His jaw tightened at the mental image.

_Help me. _She repeated her plea, but Jonis could hear her voice weakening.

"What was _that_?" Jonne panted, struggling to his feet as the fearful scream was silenced.

E8 followed him, trying to steady his taser in his shaking hands. "Locherman, what did you do? Who… are you…talking to?"

But Jonis ignored them both and moved toward the silent image. "Phoebe," he whispered, hoping she could still hear him, "hold on."

"_WHO_ are you talking to?" the guard from E8 repeated, his nervous voice nearing its breaking point. Jonis would have ignored him, but the press of cold steel against his neck forced him to stop. Jonne released the safety on his weapon and spoke slowly.

"Don't move again." Jonis could hear the panic controlled in his friend's voice. But there was also anger, and not a little sadness too. "I don't know what that was or what you were thinking, but you're not going to take another step."

Jonis stopped moving and turned around. "You heard her screaming, Jonne. I have to get her out."

Jonne's jaw clenched. "I don't know what that sound was, but please, don't make this any harder on yourself, Jonis. You need_ help_."

The E8 guard joined Jonne with his taser trained on Jonis' chest. "Yeah. You're _crazy,_ Locherman." He looked beyond Jonis towards the ruined artifact and swore. "Do you honestly have any idea what you've done?"

The crystal groaned again and Jonne raised his eyes.

"Hey." Hendrick's voice was weak behind them. Jonne nodded and E8 withdrew to help their supervisor to his feet, keeping his weapon leveled at Jonis and his eyes on the splintered exhibit.

"You're done here, Locherman," Jonne said in a flat voice. "I hope you realize that." Jonis swallowed and let his head hang to disguise his disappointment and frustration. Precious seconds were ticking away—possibly the final seconds of Phoebe's unnaturally long life—and he could do nothing more to help her. Not if Jonne was right.

But, to his great excitement, he was not.

_Jonis Locherman, I think…_

Jonis looked up in surprise. The spider-webbed fissures had reached Phoebe's face at last. He held his breath, shocked that she still had the strength to speak to him.

_I think…_

Her eyes—so long imprisoned under their unforgiving crystal chains—snapped open.

_I can see you._

Jonis smiled.

Jonne went white and took a step back.

"Oh. Oh…_heaven help_ _us_."

"What?" E8 demanded, seeing his companion lower his weapon. "What's wro…?" Then he saw. "Oh. _Oh._"

"Oh…no," Hendricks whispered as he, too, caught sight of Phoebe's open eyes. "Please tell me I'm dreaming,"

"That's not possible," Jonne murmured, drawing back another step. His taser clattered to the floor.

_Finish it, Jonis Locherman, _Phoebe pleaded. _Get me out of here._

He turned to his friend, his courage returning. "Jonne, I need you to unlock my handcuffs." But Jonne did not hear him. He continued to stagger backwards, his lips moving as if in prayer. Hendricks was pale as death, staring at Phoebe.

The guard from E8 had fainted clean away.

Jonis swore.

_Finish it, please_!

Realizing that there was no other option, Jonis bravely sucked in a breath. Phoebe had run out of time, and no one else was going to help him free her. It was up to him. With a grunt, he tucked his head into his shoulder and barreled headlong into the fragile column of crystal. The impact was more terrible than he had expected. Shards of broken crystal sent their thousand razor-sharp knives into his left side, slicing through his watchman's uniform to the skin beneath. In addition, the height of the base above the ground had prevented him from making full contact with the exhibit. He could only reach the bottom of Phoebe's prison. But Jonis ignored both the difficulty and the warm, sticky sensation spreading from his wounds. He continued to batter the exhibit with his body.

_Phoebe, hold on! Please hold on! _he thought desperately. _I'm not going to let you die now. Not now!_

The column began to crack in earnest, sending slivers of crystal falling on all sides.

"NO! HEY! _STOP!_"

The police had arrived at last, with the curator in tow. Analyzing the situation, the uniformed agents took their places around the perimeter of the entrance, leaving the curator screaming at the faithless watchman in the open doorway. Jonis paid him no attention, for all at once he realized something dreadful. From the angle the policemen stood, they could not see the change in Phoebe's appearance. All they could see was an unconscious guard and Jonis' active attempt to destroy the Terran Lady. Jonis heard the click of guns being withdrawn from holsters—real guns, not mere tasers. His grim brow set in concentration, Jonis did not doubt that they would shoot.

But the crystal was giving way.

"I SAID STOP, YOU FOOL!" the curator cried, white with rage, as the exhibit tottered on the edge of its base. The safeties of multiple firearms were disengaged at his exclamation, and Jonis could almost feel the muzzles of a dozen weapons trained on his bleeding torso. For some reason, he had the feeling that they had been instructed to shoot to kill. But Jonis did not stop. With one last herculean effort, he heaved the whole of his weight against the column. It gave one agonizing groan, drowning out the shriek of the curator, and fell to the marble floor.

Upon contact with the unyielding stone, the crystal finally shattered.


	6. On the Razor's Edge

~ Chapter V ~  
**On the Razor's Edge**

**

* * *

**

"NO! NO! N-" The curator's protest ended abruptly.

Jonis, thrown off balance by his efforts, steadied himself against the stone base and looked up. In the center of a pool of crystal shards, her famous figure as limp and lifeless as a rag doll, lay the very real Terran Lady.

Jonis' breath caught in his throat. Her voice was silent in his head, and from the distance, he couldn't tell if she was breathing. _No, no, no! You can't be dead now!_ he thought. He cast a frantic glance to his companions. Jonne and Hendricks were staring, white-faced and open-mouthed, and the guard from E8 had yet to recover from his faint. Jonis turned to the curator and the policemen. But they were even more shocked. All weapons had been lowered; all eyes bulged at the sight of the young woman who had just emerged from the crystal column. The curator seemed to be trying to say something.

"How…? What…? Who…?" His voice slowly faded, though his lips continued to move.

Jonis gritted his teeth. _And I'm going to be the only one helping her—again._ He shook his head and straightened. "Jonne, everyone, listen to me! This is Phoebe. She needs a doctor, and she needs one _now_."

No one moved.

"HEY!"

"She's _alive,_" Hendricks said softly, voicing the unspoken epiphany running through everyone's mind. "She's…she's _real_."

"But that's…that's…that's not…" the curator mumbled, passing a hand over his balding brow. The policemen looked at each other with blank expressions; the sight of the impossible woman had driven them to silence.

Jonis swore again, desperate to draw them out of the disbelieving stupor to which they had all fallen prey. "Hendricks, call an ambulance NOW!" he yelled. Unable to remove the look of wonder from his face, the older man nevertheless snapped out of his daze. With shaking hands, he obediently fumbled with his radio. Jonis turned to Jonne. "Give me the key to these handcuffs." Without a word Jonne stepped forward, drawing the key from his belt. His hands were trembling too, and Jonis suddenly felt guilty. He had been expecting—or rather, fervently hoping—that Phoebe was real; but in his worry for her safety he had forgotten to calculate the surprise her existence would engender in others. He was still worried, but he tried to sound reassuring as Jonne released his hands. "She's just a kid, Jonne, and she's scared. She needs help." Jonne swallowed as he removed the handcuffs. Jonis could tell his friend was suffering the same doubts of sanity that he had felt once, but he shook Jonne's shoulder. There was no time. "Jonne, I need your help! The medics won't be here for a while, and she can't wait that long. I need you to get the first aid kits from the watch station."

"How many?" Jonne replied, tearing his gaze away from Phoebe's limp figure.

Jonis silently thanked Jonne's willingness to suspend his disbelief. "Two or three. And a heavy jacket." Jonne nodded and backed away.

"Jonis?" Hendricks' voice was quiet as he replaced his radio and continued to stare at the Terran Lady. "The medics will be here in ten minutes."

"Good. Thanks." Somewhat reassured, Jonis turned his attention Phoebe once more, ignoring the curator's babbling and the policemen's bug-eyed stares. Jonis gauged the distance from the place where she had fallen and the place where he stood; there were a good six yards of crystal fragments between them. Desperate, he looked around for something to sweep away the shards. But there was nothing.

Phoebe stirred weakly. At her movement, a fine network of red worked its way through her clothes and she whimpered.

"No! Phoebe, don't move!" Jonis cried, the adrenaline pumping through his veins with every beat of his racing heart. _She's going to bleed to death,_ he thought in alarm._ Unless I can stop it. _Without another second's hesitation, he made for the center of the glassy pool. Bits of broken crystal sliced through his soles, but he didn't stop. In a moment he was beside her. Doing his best to brush away the knife-like debris with his boots, he knelt at her side.

"Phoebe."

She made a tiny motion and fell still again. Her breathing was barely noticeable beneath her shapeless robe. Jonis pressed his fingers to her wrist, his days in medical school suddenly coming back to him. He frowned. Her pulse was barely strong enough to keep the life in her body as it was, and yet with every weak throb it was also pushing the blood through her many wounds. She would not last long without some serious medical intervention. Jonis pulled off his heavy security vest and pushed it under Phoebe's head. Her throat moved as if to speak, but Jonis hushed her.

"Don't say anything, Phoebe. Save your strength." He rolled up his sleeves and prepared to inspect her injuries, silently grateful for the medical training he had gone through, brief though it was. _Maybe it wasn't all for nothing,_ he mused as he began pulling away the outer folds of her heavy robe.

"What…what are you doing?" The curator's reedy voice cut in on his musings.

"I'm trying to keep her alive, _sir_," Jonis replied coldly, not bothering to look up.

"You don't know what she needs…she's Terran…an alien!" the man persisted. "You could be _killing_ her!"

Jonis had had enough. He touched his fingertips to the floor beneath Phoebe's injured forearm and held up the vivid crimson for all to see. "She's bleeding, idiot! See? That's human enough for me!"

The curator's mouth gaped like a fish's, but he said nothing more. Jonis resumed his survey of her wounds. For nearly a minute he held his breath as he pulled away more of the fabric to inspect her face, throat, arms and legs. From what he could tell, the majority of her cuts were minor. Immensely relieved, he pushed his fingers through his hair. _Lots of blood, but it might not kill her,_ he thought.

There were several, though, that worried him. One shard in particular had come dangerously close to the artery in her neck. It bled enough to require immediate action, so Jonis pressed his thumb against it in an effort to curb the blood loss. With his other hand he tossed away the last folds of her outer cloak. More bloodstains drew their angry red fingers across the otherwise pristine cloth. Holding his breath again, Jonis gently pressed his hand against her torso, feeling for possible breaks or internal injuries.

At his touch, Phoebe gasped and opened her eyes.

"_Ai!_"

Jonis withdrew his hand and took her own. "Hey, hey, calm down! Phoebe, it's Jonis. You're okay."

She stared at him, eyes wide with pure, wordless panic.

"You're okay!" he repeated.

Phoebe's gaze shifted to the ceiling above her.

"Phoebe?"

She had stopped breathing.

"Phoebe! _Phoebe_!"

"Jonis!" It was Jonne.

"Jonne, she's not breathing!" he cried. "Give me the kits!"

Jonne skidded through the shards of broken crystal and laid the first aid boxes at his friend's side. His face was grim and set. "What can I do?"

Jonis hardly heard him. "Come on, Phoebe, come on! Don't give up now!" Frantic, he fumbled in one of the kits for something to help her breathe. But his fingers found only bandages and salves, not the tracheotomy tools he was hoping for. They didn't even have a ventilator bag. He swore. "Tell the medics to hurry!" he said to no one in particular. Jonne nodded and pressed his radio.

_What's wrong, Phoebe?_ he wondered silently._ Why won't you breathe?_

"They're just down the street, Jonis," Jonne informed his friend as he hung up the radio. "They'll be here in two minutes."

_She doesn't have two minutes! _he thought. But he said nothing. Without waiting for any further word from the medics or anyone else, Jonis bent to Phoebe's lifeless figure, held her nose shut and began breathing for her.

To his great relief, he had only to inflate her lungs twice before she gasped and started to breathe on her own again. Jonis sat back on his heels and sighed.

"What happened?" Jonne asked in an undertone. He could not tear his wondering eyes from the wounded girl. Jonis shook his head.

"I don't know." He cradled Phoebe's head as gingerly as he could, raising her slightly off his vest to help clear her lungs. "Phoebe?"

Her eyes darted to his.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Why did you stop breathing?"

Slowly, she moved her lips as if forming words, but no sound came out.

"Can she speak?" Jonne wondered aloud.

The clinking of crystal brought Jonis' head up before he could answer. Several of the bolder policemen had edged to the outside of the circle of shards and stood watching the three in the center. Jonis frowned and returned his attention to Phoebe. "I think so." He addressed the Terran girl. "Phoebe, can you show me where it hurts most? The medics are coming, but we need to know what to tell them."

Phoebe moved her lips again. This time she managed to make a scratchy sound before she was seized in a violent coughing fit. Jonis tried to steady her, but he could feel how the convulsions racked her fragile frame. When at last she could breathe normally again, her face was deathly pale. "W…w…et…wett…wetter," she managed at last.

Jonis' brows drew together in puzzlement, and he looked up at his friend.

"Wetter?" Jonne repeated.

Sudden comprehension flashed through Jonis' mind. "Water. She needs water!" He flung his finger in the direction of one of the policemen. "You! Get some water!"

The man jumped like a scared jackrabbit and dashed out of the room.

"We're getting you water, Phoebe," he assured her, following the policeman with his eyes until he disappeared.

"Jo…jon…jonislocherman?"

He looked down. "What did you say?"

Jonne raised his eyebrows. "I think she said your name."

"Jonislocherman?" she repeated. Her voice was hoarse and barely louder than a whisper.

"Yes?"

"I...ikaantmoov," Phoebe tried, her eyes filling with panic again.

Jonne and Jonis frowned together, trying to pick out the meaning in the clumsy syllables that had just come from her mouth. It was Jonne who understood first. "She can't move."

Jonis bit his lip and wondered again why she was no longer using her sixth sense to speak directly to his mind. "Don't try, Phoebe. You're weak. Just stay still." The sounds of pounding footsteps echoed in the far hallway, and Jonis felt a surge of relief. "The medics are here."

"Meedik?" she repeated slowly, distrust shining in her frightened eyes.

"They're going to take care of your injuries," Jonne said, and Phoebe's gaze flicked to him.

"Whoosthat, jonislocherman?"

"My friend Jonne. He's all right, Phoebe." Jonis was beginning to get the hang of her slurred speech.

"No! Iheeredheem…I herdhimhurtyoo…hee…_ai!_" Phoebe's protests broke off sharply, descending from speech to a wordless cry of pain.

"What's wrong?"

"The g-gl-glass!" she managed. "It h-hurtsme!" Her eyes were trained on the red lines soaking through her robe. Jonis wondered if she had only just begun to feel the pain, so sudden was her reaction.

"It's okay, Phoebe, it's okay! The medics are here," he repeated as the ambulance team entered the room.

"What's the deal?" the lead medic asked, surveying the damage with admirable coolness. It was only when Hendricks pointed out the breathing, bleeding Terran Lady that the medic showed some sign of disbelief. "Is…is that…?" he started to ask.

"Yes, it is!" Jonis cried, impatient. "And she needs to get to a hospital, so stop gawking and help her!"

Without another word the medic and his assistants swept a path to the injured young woman. He gave her wounds a cursory glance and frowned. "These are all from…" he looked up to the remnants of the crystal exhibit. "All from that?"

Jonis nodded. "Yeah. And she's very weak. Dehydrated. She'll need all the fluids you've got."

The medic gestured for the assistants to bring the stretcher and cast his eye around the partially-lit, crystal-littered room. "Can she be moved? I can't do anything here."

Jonis nodded again. "I don't think there's much internal damage. I already checked."

The medic gave him a look. "Are you a doctor?"

Jonis shook his head, impatient. "I just know what to look for." He snatched the heavy jacket Jonne had retrieved and spread it next to Phoebe. "Here, help me get her on this so we can lift her."

He reached out to move her, but before he could the medic seized his arm and turned him away from Phoebe's gaze. He spoke softly but urgently, and his face was taut. "How do you know what to look for in _her_? If that's actually…" he swallowed and nodded to the wounded girl, "if that's actually the _Terran_ Lady…then I have no idea how to treat her."

Jonis pulled his arm away from the medic's grip. "Try. Do what you can. Treat her like a human."

"But if she's not…I could kill her!"

"Just do what he says," Jonne cut in coldly. "She'll die anyway if you don't." Jonis shot him a glance of thanks. The medic held up his hands.

"All right! All right, I will."

"Now help lift her."

Together, Jonis and the reluctant medic shifted Phoebe just enough to get her onto the jacket. She whimpered in pain and closed her eyes. Jonis took her hand and felt her pulse as the medic's assistants wheeled the stretcher to her side. He could feel their incredulous eyes boring into the bleeding young woman, but they said nothing and unstrapped the transfer board. Taking care to move her as little as possible, Jonis and the medic dragged the jacket onto the board. Phoebe opened her eyes and sought out Jonis' face from the strange men bent over her. Her pulse was thready and furious.

"Wha…watshappning?"

"It's all right. We're going to take you to a hospital now, okay?" Jonis informed her.

But all she could manage was a weak shake of her head. "Wetter," she mumbled.

"We're going to get you on fluids." Jonis signaled for the two of them to lift her, pushing away his anger at the absent policeman he had sent for water. "Quick. On three. One, two…three."

The medic grunted as they hefted the board and its fragile occupant onto the stretcher. His attitude immediately changed, and he began barking orders for his lackeys.

"Rob, get the truck started and let the ER know what we're bringing them." The male medic nodded and dashed off as his boss continued. "Rachel, you're with me. I want to know what kind of damage we're dealing with before we get to the truck." The second medic, a young woman, hurried to join her superior at Phoebe's side. He turned to Jonis last. "And guard, you're pushing."

Jonis nodded and took his place at the head of the stretcher.

"Then I'll pull." Jonne volunteered, stepping forward to take the other end.

The medic waved his hand, his attention already focused on Phoebe's vital signs. "Whatever. But let's go!"

Jonne and Jonis began to wheel the stretcher away, moving as quickly as they could without causing any further injury to the Terran girl. The crunch of crystal shards beneath the stretcher wheels reminded Jonis of his own wounds, but the combined forces of shock and adrenaline had blocked most of the pain from his conscious mind. All he cared about at the moment was getting Phoebe safely to the hospital. "Where…?" Jonis began, hoping to draw their destination out of the head medic. But he was not allowed to finish.

"WAIT!" The curator's frantic order echoed through the ruined room, cutting him off. Jonis' knuckles tightened on the bars of the stretcher. He signaled for Jonne to keep pulling. "WAIT! _Wait!_ You can't take her!" The little man's footsteps pattered around the pool of broken exhibit and he faced the group with his hands in the air. "I can't…you can't…she's not…" He paused to catch his breath. "You can't…you can't just _take_ her! She belongs to the Museum!"

"She needs medical help, sir," the head medic said dismissively, focused on Phoebe's vital signs. "_Whoever_ you say she is. We're taking her to the hospital."

"But she's not…she's not…" the curator tried, his comical face twisting in narrow-minded fury. "She belongs to the Museum!" he repeated. "The Council…"

He never finished his statement.

At the mention of the Council, Jonis quietly crossed the distance to the curator and punched him in the face.

"Where did you come in?" Jonis asked, shaking out his hand and taking his place again at Phoebe's head. He ignored the stuttered exclamations of rage and the curses from the man sprawled on the floor as he continued pushing. Jonne followed suit, his undisguised surprise at his friend's actions showing clearly on his face. In the room's poor lighting, however, his simultaneous smile went unnoticed.

The female medic glanced up from her attempt to cut away the rest of Phoebe's bloodstained clothes. Her only reaction at Jonis' outburst had been a slight raising of her eyebrows, and she had the presence of mind to keep her mouth shut, glad for the Terran girl's sake of the removal of the obstinate curator. "The main entrance. They said she was near the front." She returned her attention to her patient with a frown as Phoebe's injuries began to reveal themselves. "Doctor, we're going to need a surgeon on standby in the ER. She's cut pretty badly."

The head medic nodded, preoccupied with his study of Phoebe's heartbeat. He withdrew a stethoscope from around his neck and listened to the left side of her chest, then the right. "Her heart's arrhythmic and her lungs are raspy." Wary in his approval of a layman's diagnosis, he nevertheless glanced up at Jonis to assure him of his accuracy. "But as far as I can tell, she's clear of internal injuries."

"Good."

With practiced alacrity, the medic named Rachel began cleaning the worst of the wounds she had exposed, her gait never faltering as she ran next to the stretcher. Phoebe gasped as the solution entered her lacerations.

"_Ai! _Hurt! It—hurtsme!_"_

"Calm down…ma'am," the head medic tried. "We're trying to help you."

Jonis reached out and touched Phoebe's hand reassuringly as they rushed through the Museum's entrance and into the night air. The medic Rob had backed the ambulance as close as he could to the stairs and was waiting for them with the back open. He had in his hands the tools for an IV and a bag of saline. "They're waiting for us, boss," he informed his superior as the four descended the stairs with the stretcher on their shoulders.

"Okay—let them know we'll need a surgeon, too." Rob handed Rachel the IV and dashed around to the cab of the ambulance. "You two," the head medic said to Jonne and Jonis, "lift on three. And make sure the wheels collapse."

Jonis started to let go of Phoebe's hand, but she unexpectedly tightened her frail grip, eyes wide at the sight of the strange vehicle.

"Jonislocherman!"

He reached up to steady her. "Hey, hey, relax! It's an ambulance. You're going to be fine."

Phoebe's eyes darted to the head medic. "Who? Whois he?"

Jonis frowned but looked up at the medic. "What's your name?"

"Simon."

He nodded to the Terran girl. "Phoebe, this is Simon. The other one is Rachel. You're going to have to let them take you to the hospital and make you better."

"Butnotwitoutyoo, joni...?" she began.

"We have to go, boss!" Rob called from around front, cutting her off. "The ER just called and said they can't keep our room if we're not there in ten minutes!"

Simon swore under his breath. "All right, get her in." Jonis let go of Phoebe's hand. "On three, then. One, two…three." The stretcher and its frightened occupant slid into the bed of the ambulance. Rachel jumped up after it, and Jonis made to follow her. But a firm hand on his arm pulled him back to the ground.

"What?"

The head medic shook his head. "You can't come with us."

Jonis drew away from his restraining gesture. "I have to. You saw! She trusts me."

Simon frowned. "You can ride up with Rob. But not with us."

"No." Without waiting for the medic's response, Jonis climbed up beside Phoebe. "I'm coming with her."

"_Boss!_ We've gotta go!"

Simon threw up his hands in frustration; the very existence of their present patient tossed all protocol out the window. "Fine!" He swung up next to Rachel and cast a long-suffering look at Jonne. "But not him too!"

Jonne shook his head, as if that were obvious. "I know! _Go_ already!"

As if to answer him, the ambulance's siren began wailing through the empty Plaza. Jonne reached around and shut the doors, and without another second's hesitation, Rob hit the accelerator.


	7. Jordan Hospital

~ Chapter VI ~  
**Jordan Hospital**

**

* * *

**

Jonis had to grab hold of the side of the ambulance to keep himself from pitching forward. Ignoring his clumsiness, Rachel and Simon engaged the locks on the stretcher wheels and brought Phoebe up to their level. With a dexterity that revealed years of practice, Rachel drew up the IV needle and prepared the saline solution. Swabbing the swatch of undamaged skin on Phoebe's forearm, she bent down to insert the needle.

"Wait." Simon took the needle from her before she could protest. He met Jonis' eye and spoke quickly. "I'm going to admit that we're out of our depth here. So before we do this, I need you to promise to back us up if—if we do something wrong. If she's…not human, I mean."

Jonis looked down and realized that he had kept hold of Phoebe's hand. She was watching him with unmistakable trust in her alien eyes. Bending down so that he was level with the stretcher, Jonis made his words as clear as possible. "Phoebe, are you human?"

An indefinable expression crossed her face. "W-wattdoyoo mean?"

"It's important for Simon to know, so he can treat you."

Phoebe opened her mouth to answer, but a sudden coughing fit seized her. Rachel frowned as she tried to keep her patient from rolling off the stretcher. "Simon, just give her the IV! She's going to die of dehydration before we can even get to the hospital!"

"Phoebe, are you human?" Jonis persisted, seeing the determination in the head medic's eyes.

"Y-yes," she managed. But the syllable had scarcely left her mouth before she fell limp, the color draining from her face. Her fingers on the Terran's wrist, Rachel shook her head.

"Simon, _now_! We're losing her!"

Without a word Simon injected the IV.

~o~

His mind spinning, Jonis tried to keep calm. Phoebe did not revive, and the deathly pallor of her skin made her wounds look all the more livid. Try as he might, he could not prevent his medical training from surfacing and commenting on the gravity of her condition. He looked on grimly as Rachel and Simon busied themselves with keeping her alive. The wailing of the ambulance's siren faded into the background as Jonis crouched in a corner, his hands on his knees, deep in his troubled thoughts.

_A hundred years or more in some sort of intense cryostasis. No movement, no heartbeat, no air, no food, no water… Of course she's weak! _He shuddered. _She _was_ dead. She shouldn't be alive._ Jonis wondered what a violent shock it must have been for her to suddenly _feel_ again, let alone awake in such a strange new world. It would have been exquisite agony, he imagined, taking her first breath after a hundred years of nothingness. _But that nothingness allowed her to survive whatever befell the ship in her memories,_ Jonis remembered. And with her freedom from the crystal—with her release from that empty oblivion of sensation—there came the awful burden of _living_. _Her body wasn't ready for it, _he realized with a shock, swallowing painfully. _She's dying. Again._

"Hey! Guard!"

Jonis snapped out of his reverie. "What?"

Simon held a ventilator bag in one hand and roll of gauze in the other. "Do you know how this works?"

Jonis looked down in alarm. He did indeed know what it was for. But Phoebe was still breathing, though the rising and falling of her chest was barely noticeable under the sheet Rachel had drawn over her.

"Do you?" Simon repeated, the urgency undisguised in his voice.

"Yes." He took it, placed the mask over Phoebe's nose and mouth and began squeezing out the rhythm of artificial respiration.

"We need to get these wounds cleaned as best as we can," Simon continued, as if answering Jonis' unspoken question. "But I'm afraid she's too weak to keep her vitals up by herself." At his grim pronouncement, Jonis noticed the defibrillator for the first time. Simon had casually pulled it out from his medical bag and placed it within easy reach. He nodded, his grip on the ventilator never wavering.

"Where are we going?" Jonis thought to ask at last.

"Jordan," Simon replied, and Jonis felt himself relax slightly. Jordan Hospital was the largest and best-equipped medical facility in the city. "And when we get there I suggest you get your shoulder checked out," the medic added without looking up from his careful swathing of Phoebe's arm. "That doesn't look like it feels too good."

Jonis shrugged. He had been quite able to block out the pain from his own injury as long as worry for the Terran girl had occupied his mind. He would have to get it treated eventually, of course, but only once Phoebe was safely in the hands of the Jordan doctors. "How long?"

"Minutes."

Without ceasing his operation of the artificial respirator, Jonis took Phoebe's cold, alien hand and pressed it gently. _Hold on, Phoebe. I promise you're going to make it._

~o~

The lights of Jordan Hospital illuminated a strange scene in the entrance of the emergency room. White-jacketed doctors and nurses in colorful smocks milled in the receiving area, talking amongst themselves in whispers and watching the sliding doors with anxious expressions. The great clock in the waiting room had barely struck a quarter to four in the morning when the siren of an approaching ambulance set off a volley of orders from the doctors.

"Nurse! I need gurney two, extra gauze and IV solutions 7, 2a!"

"Doctors Mendel and Boern to OR prep, stat!"

"Anyone not assigned to this patient, GET OUT!"

Extraneous personnel scattered, leaving two nurses and a tall doctor to wheel out the selected gurney and IV stands to the ambulance receiving area. Their faces were taut and apprehensive as the sound of the siren grew louder. At last, an ambulance came blaring around from the street side of the building, sliding into the ER entrance at breakneck speed and grinding to a halt with a sharp mechanical screech. The attending doctor rushed to the back of the vehicle without waiting for an invitation. He was greeted by a pair of medics and a stranger, all three of them laboring over the body of a young woman. The doctor did not need his medical degree to see that the girl was close to death. Without bothering to exchange greetings, he ran alongside the head medic as they pushed the wheeled stretcher through the sliding doors and into the hospital.

"What's the deal here, Simon?"

"Female, looks about late teens, early twenties, severe lacerations over about sixty percent of her body. They're not deep, but they should be cleaned and treated immediately."

The nameless doctor nodded. "Her vitals?"

Rachel and Jonis looked up at the same time. Simon paused for a moment before he answered. "Stoddart…don't you know who this is?"

"What? No, why?"

The nurses trailing the rapidly moving group echoed the doctor's confusion.

Simon lowered his voice. "This is the…the Terran Lady."

The laugh that burst from Doctor Stoddart's lips was short and laden with disbelief. But Simon's serious expression sobered him in an instant. "This isn't a joke, Matt."

The doctor looked blankly from the medic to the patient, and Jonis noted how the blood drained from his cheek. "But that's—impossible," he muttered. "It…she's not…"

"Well, obviously she _is_, Matt," Simon countered. "And if you're not going to do your job here, Rachel and I will."

Doctor Stoddart shook his head but quickly got control of his incredulity. "Fine. It's…she's the Terran Lady." His fingers tightened on the edge of the stretcher. "What does that mean for us?"

"She's human, thank heavens. But she's dangerously dehydrated, and the sooner I got her on real monitors, the happier I'll be. Her heart's not strong and she's going to need some serious nourishment. But the most important thing is keeping her IV going." Simon met his colleague's eye. "Give her everything you've got. Other than that, she's just going to need time to heal from these cuts."

"Okay. But what…" the doctor broke off abruptly as he noticed Jonis. The group had just passed through the doors to the operating hall. "Whoa, Simon, he can't be here."

Jonis glanced up at the medic, keeping the ventilator pumping with one hand. The other was wrapped protectively around Phoebe's.

Simon nodded. "I'm sorry, but he's right. You can't come in here."

Without a word Rachel reached for the artificial respirator. "It's all right, I've got it."

Jonis let go without a fight. He saw at once that he could be of no more help in the operation. But he shrank from the thought of doing nothing at all. "Where should I…?" he began, but Rachel anticipated his question.

"ER reception desk, one floor up. They'll get a doctor to look at your side, and we'll let you know when she's stable," she called over her shoulder before disappearing behind another set of swinging doors. Jonis watched the group through the crack in the doors until they settled shut. With a sigh, he turned away from the operating hall and surveyed his surroundings.

He had been left alone in the empty corridor. It was sterile-smelling and tiled in white, with colorful mosaics adorning the upper half of the walls. The lights above his head were achingly bright, and Jonis suddenly felt the heavy hood of fatigue settle over his head. His left side was throbbing and the blood had clotted in uneven clumps on the fabric of his shredded sleeve. For the first time since his decision to make himself a human battering ram, he was acutely aware of the pain. Weary, sore and unable to steady his tossing thoughts, Jonis dragged himself to the elevator and rode up to the next floor. There, just as Rachel had said, a young man at the reception desk surveyed his condition and immediately assigned him a room. Hardly aware of what he was doing, Jonis entered the room and collapsed on the cot, overcome in a moment by the physical and mental events of the past few hours.

His last thought before passing out was the chilling possibility that he might never see Phoebe alive again.

~o~

_Jonis Locherman_

_._

_Jonis Locherman!_

_._

_JONIS LOCHERMAN!_

.

Where am I?

_Phoebe._

What happened? Am I dead?

_My name is Phoebe... _

_Phoebe... _

_my name..._

Everything was black.

_No. _

_Wait._

It was getting lighter. Everything was gray. Heavy, swirling gray. Not clouds or mist…just the physical essence of grayness. All around.

Then there was the shaft of light.

_But no, that wasn't it either._

This was a pillar, a column. Real. Tangible. Shining. He could reach out and touch it if he wanted to.

But why would he want to? And why had he thought that it appeared so suddenly? It had always been there. He passed it every night. It was nothing of importance. Not to him, at least.

There was a quiet cry.

_Jonis Locherman?_

He didn't see the shining pillar anymore.

All around him, the gray air was suddenly thick with thorns. They stuck at him and scratched until he bled. He could feel the whole of his left side soaked in blood, and his arm was on fire. The thorns had surrounded the voice, but for some reason he knew he had to push through them. _Something about a girl... a girl trapped in a tower…no, not a tower…she was trapped in the pillar! That was it!_ She was calling for him to rescue her.

He just had to get past the wall of thorns.

_Ahh!_

The thorns had changed again.

This time they were bright and crystalline, reflecting his face a thousand times over in every facet. And not his face only. Next to his, pale as death, was the face of a young woman. Her eyes were closed, just as they had been for a hundred years. She was lying just a few feet away from him. Left side torn and throbbing, he tried to reach her. But no sooner had he taken one step than he found his legs would no longer move. Piece by piece, the shards of broken glass (_how had he ever thought they were thorns?_) had drawn themselves up and fastened around his feet. Dismayed, he tried to call for help, but his tongue was as frozen as his feet. The glass continued to gather itself together and imprison him, climbing like a cold and living thing up his waist and along his torso. Faster and faster it built itself up, tightening around his chest and throat.

There would soon be nothing left of him, he realized. All was gone; all was numb. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't breathe.

It was his end.

As the last shard of crystal shivered its way to his head, he made one final effort to see her.

_I am lost. But she will live. Please. At least let her live._

She was still lying on her side, white and motionless. But at the very last moment, she stirred.

He held the breath that would, in one more instant, be squeezed from his lungs by the crushing pressure of the living prison.

_Please._

Her eyes flew open.

_Thank you, Jonis Locherman._

Then everything went black.

* * *

Jonis awoke to a sharp jab in his right arm. Reaching out instinctively to protect himself, he found his hand's progress arrested by the cold and familiar tug of a metal bracelet. "Hey!"

The orderly administering his IV didn't even look up. "Please don't move, sir," she asked, her voice flat and businesslike.

Jonis paid her request no attention. "What is this?" he demanded, breathing hard in the aftermath of his strange dream. "What's going on?" The woman's face showed no emotion as she withdrew her needle and taped the IV in place. Before she had a chance to reply, Jonis noticed his ruined shirt had been removed and his shoulder bandaged_. I must have been out of it for a long time,_ he mused silently, his mind flicking back to the bizarre vision he had just escaped. Aloud, he repeated his question.

"You can ask the police when they come back," the orderly said curtly, tidying up her tools and standing. "They said they'd return as soon as you came to."

"But…!"

"Mr. Locherman?" The orderly slid out of the room behind the imposing figures of two uniformed police officers.

"What's going on?" Jonis demanded again, rattling the handcuffs against the metal frame of the hospital bed. The younger of the two officers stepped forward to answer him, and Jonis could not help but notice how he tried not to stare at his shredded shoulder. He looked vaguely familiar.

"Mr. Locherman, you are under temporary restraint for voluntary destruction of Museum prop-"

But the man was cut off simultaneously by an exclamation of outrage from Jonis and the heavy hand of his partner from behind. The older officer, who had been studying Jonis carefully from the moment they entered the room, would not let the younger man finish. "I think Mr. Locherman will be more willing to tell us what happened if he wasn't cuffed to the cot."

The officer, whose badge stated that his name was Sorenson, watched blankly as his partner withdrew the key to the cuffs and unlocked the prisoner's restraints. In spite of himself, Jonis was surprised. Trying to avoid moving his left arm, he gingerly rubbed the feeling back into his right wrist. "Thanks."

The older officer nodded and drew the single chair in the room over to where he had been standing and sat, still studying the injured man.

"Kale, you heard…" his partner began, but a raised hand shushed him.

"Yeah, I heard. But I saw, too. And so did you." He cast a significant look at Jonis. "I think it's our responsibility to hear what he has to say before we go arresting him. Considering…" his voice trailed off, and Jonis heard the wonder in his voice. "Considering the fact that the law seems a little fuzzy in this area," he finished.

With a sigh of supreme frustration, Sorenson crossed his arms and stood behind his partner. Jonis could practically feel the man's sense of duty warring against his loyalty to the older officer. But to his credit, and to Jonis' relief, he made no move to cuff him again.

"Now, Mr. Locherman, I don't think you have any doubts as to why we're here," the policeman named Kale began quietly. "But my partner and I were with the curator when you…when you…" He seemed to be at a loss for the proper description of what he had observed. Jonis helped him, suddenly remembering why the younger man had seemed so familiar. It was the police officer he had sent to get Phoebe a drink. Jonis sighed and pushed the hair away from his forehead.

"When I destroyed the Terran Lady exhibit."

Kale coughed. "Right. We saw that…and we saw _her_." He stopped.

"And you'd like an explanation?" Jonis tried, impatient. He was eager to see Phoebe; or at the very least, to hear if she was still alive.

"Frankly, yes." Kale gave an incredulous shake of his head. "Us and the rest of the world."

Jonis struggled to as near an upright position as his injury would allow him. He glanced at the clock on the wall outside. It was only half past five in the morning. "How many people know?"

Kale held up his hand. "Just the people that were there and the hospital staff that are treating her now. The curator is briefing the Council, but beyond that it hasn't gone further than the Museum personnel."

Sorenson made a wry grimace. "But it won't be that way for long."

Jonis sighed. He had known from the beginning that there was going to be publicity. _How could we escape it? Someone, somewhere was going to find out…and when they do, the whole world will be in an uproar. This is _history_, after all. _But he hated to think of the effect it might prove to have on Phoebe, especially in her condition. _If she's even alive, _he reminded himself with a shiver.

"You want the whole story?" he asked slowly, easing himself back onto the pillows. His entire upper left side was stiff and sore, but the painkillers they had given him took the edge off. He waited for Kale's response.

"Of course."

Jonis sighed again and nodded to the younger officer. "Then you might want to get a chair."

~o~

It took a good half hour for Jonis to tell his tale, interrupted every few minutes as he was by Sorenson and Kale's amazed questions. When at last he finished, Jonis was impressed with how well they took it. _Of course, _he reminded himself, _they were there at the end. They _saw_ her. I guess they have to believe the rest, no matter how crazy it sounds._

"And this…Phoebe," Sorenson pronounced the Terran name with care, "Phoebe could hear everything that went on outside her exhibit?"

Jonis nodded and winced as the muscles on his left side pulled at the bandaged lacerations. "That's what she told me. That's how she learned our language, apparently."

Kale whistled. "And this was right in front of us the whole time…"

His partner shifted in his chair. "What was the curator going to tell the Council?" he asked the older officer. Kale shot Jonis a sharp, bemused glance.

"Well, from what I could make out between the curses, I gathered that he was planning to call an emergency session of the entire Charter." He checked his watch. "They'll be meeting right now."

Jonis raised an eyebrow. "Is he the one that told your chief to arrest me?"

Kale nodded. "But like I said before, the law is a little fuzzy on an issue like this. You're going to have to give people time to get over the shock before they can think clearly of what to do with you." He shook his head once more. "With the _both_ of you."

"I understand."

Sorenson stood and regarded Jonis' shoulder thoughtfully. "But just to be on the safe side, I might recommend that you cooperate with any officials that question you about this."

"Of course," he answered with a twinge of annoyance_. Honestly man, what else do you think I would do? Do you think I _want _to go to prison?_

"Good. We…" the younger officer began, but he was interrupted by a sharp knock on the doorframe. The three men looked up. It was Rachel, Simon's underling. Her trousers and jacket were stained with blood and spilled iodine and her expression was weary, but she managed a small smile of greeting.

"How is she?" Jonis asked before she could enter. Kale stood and pulled off his policeman's cap.

"Ma'am."

Rachel sighed. "She'll live."

Jonis let his head fall back on the pillows and felt the relief wash over him_. She'll live…she'll live. It wasn't all for nothing._

"But how're you?" Jonis looked up. Rachel was studying his shoulder with a doctor's critical eye. Without thinking he shrugged—and regretted it instantly. Rachel watched his face twist in pain and raised her eyebrow. "Obviously not great."

Jonis waved it away as the pain passed. "I'm fine. Can I see her?"

"I…"

"Ma'am?" Kale interrupted. Rachel turned to him. "May I have a moment before you answer that?" Puzzled, the medic stepped into the hallway with the older policeman. Kale spoke softly, but Jonis caught enough of what he was saying to piece their conversation together. "My partner and I…to stay with this man until…superiors…here. If…to see this…we go with him."

Rachel nodded and reentered the room. "You can see her if…." But Jonis was already halfway out of the cot. She raised her hand to stop him. "_If _these officers come with you. And if you promise to come back when you're finished. You're still a patient here, and you haven't been released yet."

"I'm fine," he said again, snatching a cotton shirt from the stack of clothes the orderly had left on his cot side table. His shredded jacket and bloody shirt had been taken away earlier and incinerated. Jonis didn't mind; the robe-like shirt they provided was the only thing he could manage to put on without discomfort. "Let's go."


	8. Elias Bromley, PhD

~ Chapter VII ~  
**Elias Bromley, Ph.D.**

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* * *

**

The elevator seemed to take far longer than it should have to descend to Phoebe's floor. Jonis stood between Sorenson and Kale in the back, his eyes glued to the softly glowing buttons. Rachel noticed his anxiety and frowned.

"I hope you weren't planning on talking with her now. We had to sedate her."

"What?"

"We were afraid she would start to panic if she regained consciousness in the middle of our procedure."

"But…"

"Hey, relax, all right? It wasn't a big dose. If she's human, it won't hurt her." Jonis made a frustrated grunt but said nothing more. They had reached the first floor. As the doors slid open, Rachel stepped aside to let Jonis and the policemen through. She pointed down the white-tiled hallway. "Go straight back and take a left. Give the man at the door my name and he should…"

But Jonis was already halfway down the hall, Sorenson and Kale in tow.

The room was not far. But as the little group rounded the corner, they were met with an imposing obstacle. The door was indeed guarded, as Rachel had warned them. A big man with a heavy jaw and glowering brow stood in front of the farthest room, his arms crossed in front of his massive chest. Recalling the weapons training he had undergone for the Museum, Jonis recognized the bulge of a shoulder holster under the guard's expensive jacket.

He made quite an intimidating picture.

Fortunately, his fearful mien was not the only spectacle that met the visitors as they came around the corner. In front of the guard, gesturing wildly and shouting at the top of his considerably squeaky voice, a short, wrinkled little man was demanding access to the room.

"I am a _Charter_ anthropologist! I'm here on Council orders! If you don't stand aside and let me in this instant, I swear, young man, you will not have a job tomorrow morning!"

The guard said nothing, but the look on his face was one of unconcerned amusement. Jonis was reminded of the time he had seen a kitten scolding a wolfhound; it was at once funny and frightening. He had laughed at the sight, but he never could remember seeing that particular kitten again. Fortunately for the little man, the arrival of Jonis and the policemen caught the guard's attention.

"Can I help you?" he asked, pushing the anthropologist aside with one hand.

Jonis straightened. "Rachel sent me. I'm here to see Phoebe."

But the guard was not allowed to answer. With a cry, the man who had been denied entry wrenched himself away from the guard's grip and stepped up to Jonis, his eyes aglow with enthusiasm. "_You!_ You're him!"

"Excuse me?"

"You're the one that got her out of the Museum! You've seen her—you _saved_ her! You're _Jonis Locherman!_"

The guard and the two officers looked on as Jonis frowned at the unwanted admiration. "Yes?"

The short man thrust his hand into Jonis' face. "Dr. Elias Bromley, Ph.D., Charter anthropologist. Call me Eli. I specialize in Terran history and artifacts," he announced, as if that explained everything. Jonis ignored his hand, the impatience boiling over inside him.

"Good for you, sir. May I get through?"

His brusque manner slid harmlessly off the anthropologist's implacable enthusiasm. Dr. Bromley turned to the guard with a disdainful look. "Right! You hear him, young man? This is Jonis Locherman! He needs to see…" All at once he broke off and turned back to Jonis in wonderment. "You know her _name_?"

As an answer, Jonis addressed himself to the guard. "Well?"

"Dr. Avadari sent you?"

Jonis bit his lip. He had never asked Rachel's last name. "Rachel Avadari?"

"That's her."

"Yeah. She said it was all right."

The guard looked past Jonis, as if he had noticed the uniformed officers for the first time. "Are you two with this man?"

Kale nodded, showing the guard his police badge. "And we need to stay with him if he goes in."

Jonis wondered how much the guard had been briefed when he was assigned to his post. From the look of it, he knew of his connection to the Terran girl. _Apparently, though, so does everyone else, _he mused, regarding Dr. Bromley. The anthropologist stood next to him, arms folded, watching the guard impatiently. If the situation had not been so serious, Jonis felt he might have chuckled. The man's balding head barely reached his shoulder.

"Well?"

The guard moved to the side. "You can go in. Dr. Avadari told me about you."

Sighing, Jonis pushed past the doorkeeper's bulky frame. "Thank you."

"But not you."

Jonis glanced over his shoulder. Kale and his partner had followed him inside, but the guard had cut off Dr. Bromley before he could slip into the room after them.

"But…! But…!" The anthropologist's cries of protest faded as the guard shut the door. Jonis allowed himself a small smile before he turned his attention to the sight before him.

The three men had been shown into a small anteroom, tiled entirely in white. Two cots, a metal chair and a counter with a sink were the only articles of furniture in the room. At the sink, a dark-haired man in a long, blood-stained medical coat was vigorously scrubbing his hands under the stream of water. His mouth and nose were covered with a green filter mask; when he heard the visitors enter, he uncovered his face and turned to greet them. It was the tall doctor they had met upon Phoebe's arrival.

"Jonis Locherman?"

"Yes?" he answered, trying to remember how Simon had addressed the doctor. _Stubborne? Steddert?_

"Matthias Stoddart," the doctor said in introduction, drying his dripping hands under the Sterilamp. "I'm this…this woman's attending." He extended his hand and Jonis shook it, noting his pause.

"May I see her?"

Dr. Stoddart inclined his head. "Come with me." Jonis followed the doctor across the sparse white room to another door. "Simon was telling me about what happened to her," Dr. Stoddart told Jonis as he pushed open the door. "I'm honestly amazed she's still alive. Considering…you know. Who she is. _What _she is."

Jonis gave him a sharp look. "She is _human_ though, right?"

The doctor nodded. "As far as I can tell without full internal scans. She's responding to our medicine. Here." He gestured to a bed at the far end of the room they had just entered.

Jonis felt his stomach twist at the sight.

The doctors had raised filter screens around her cot, and the regular ceiling lights had been exchanged for the harsh yellow glow of Sterilamps. A nurse stood at her side, making notes on her computer clipboard. Like Dr. Stoddart, she wore a green mask and a white medical robe. Blinking machines trailed their clear tubes and wires from the bed to the monitors on the wall. And in the midst of the sterile cubicle, her pale skin tinted sickly by the lamps, Phoebe lay unconscious.

"I'm going to have to ask you all to put these on," Dr. Stoddart said, pointing to a row of robes and masks hanging from the wall behind them. "We're assuming she has no immunities to our planet's pathogens, so we have to take every precaution."

Jonis slipped the articles on without a word.

"Oh...actually, I think my partner and I will wait outside for you, Mr. Locherman," Kale announced. Both he and Sorenson were pale and bug-eyed, staring at the alien across the room as the backed through the door. Dr. Stoddart watched them curiously as Jonis nodded.

"I won't go anywhere, I promise."

"Good."

As the door swung shut, the nurse drew their attention back in Phoebe's direction. "Doctor, Pathology just called. Her preliminary blood tests are back. They'd like to see you."

The doctor nodded. "Mr. Locherman, this is my head nurse. Jaessi, Jonis Locherman." Nurse Jaessi looked up from her clipboard, wide-eyed.

"_The_ Jonis Locherman?" she murmured, glancing at his wounded shoulder in wonder. Jonis felt uncomfortable at her sudden attention. Two people now had reacted that way to his name; he could only guess what and how they had heard of him.

"He's here to see her," Dr. Stoddart informed her, touching Jonis' uninjured shoulder as he addressed him. "And I have to go. Will you be all right for a while?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

"You're welcome." He signaled for the nurse to follow him and exited, leaving Jonis alone with the Terran girl.

~o~

Jonis felt an immediate hatred for the Sterilamps that illuminated the fragile figure lying on the cot. They cast stark shadows on Phoebe's cheeks, making her look even more wan and emaciated than she was already. But her breathing had steadied, and the IV in her arm had not ceased its life-giving function. Her cuts had been treated and bandaged, and the monitors above her bed beeped gently in rhythm to her now-regular heartbeat. Adjusting his mask, Jonis dragged a chair to the bedside and sat down, thoughtful. He wondered if she could hear him.

"Phoebe?" he said softly.

She did not stir.

He sighed. He had not expected her to. But he felt he would rather talk to her than sit in silence. He continued. "Phoebe, it's Jonis. We got you to a hospital in time. The doctors think you're going to be fine."

Nothing.

"I guess there's a lot going through your mind right now. You're probably scared. That's okay. I would be too. But I promise you'll be all right."

Still nothing.

_What am I doing? _he wondered, leaning back in his chair. The silence and the unnatural light made him uncomfortable, and in the absence of a response from Phoebe, he turned to musing. _Why do I keep telling her that? What do I know about what's going to happen to her? To us? _The policeman's report of the Charter meeting had set Jonis on edge. _Once the furor of this dies down, how is the Council going to look at her? How will the world look at her?_

The monitors continued their steady beeping, the only outward sign that Phoebe was still alive.

_How do _I look at_ her?_

The thought came unbidden, and it took Jonis by surprise.

_How _do _I look at her?_ he asked himself again. _Honestly?_ He realized with a start that it was the first opportunity he had had since his original encounter with the Terran Lady to actually think about it. Jonis leaned forward, his chin on his fist, and studied Phoebe.

She was pale and frighteningly thin, as he had noticed before. But he tried to look past that, past even her alien nature, and see her as he had told Jonne she was—a scared, lonely young woman in need of help. Jonis frowned as he concentrated. It was no easy task.

Phoebe was of medium height, and, as Jonis remembered from under the lights at Museum, a fair-skinned girl. Her hair was long and of a particular reddish-blonde color. Jonis had forgotten what color her eyes were. While imprisoned in the crystal column, she had worn a long gray cloak; in the ambulance, Jonis had discovered that the cloak covered a baggy, utilitarian jumpsuit in dull white. He also remembered—and not without a touch of color in his cheeks—the fleeting glimpse of her body beneath as Rachel cut away her shredded and bloodstained jumpsuit. As modesty demanded, he had turned away when the medic removed Phoebe's clothes. But he still remembered.

_Oh, please,_ he thought to himself. _That is the_ last _thing she needs right now._

Shaking off his embarrassment, he resumed his contemplation of the Terran girl.

He wondered how old she really was—biologically, not chronologically. Her very presence in front of him forced all chronological accounts of time out the window. She looked about twenty, give or take a few years in either direction. _How long does her kind live?_ Jonis wondered. He tried to recall what he knew of the ancient world of Terra and its inhabitants. Children of his world were taught of the Old Planets and their lost civilizations in their first few years of schooling, but they were only required to know a few basic facts. Jonis felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth as he remembered his own mnemonic device for getting the Old Planets in order.

_My - Teacher - Likes - Very - Idiotic - Thoughts - and - Grades - Badly. _

It didn't make much sense, but Jonis had never forgotten the planets' names. "_Meridius, Terra, Lorn, Valakara, Ios, Trajan, Goloris, Brind. The three planets and five moons of the solar system Astrayis Prime. Home to the Terran, Valas and Meridi people, the three great civilizations of Astrayis Prime. The Valas abandoned the system eight hundred years ago, the Meridi five hundred and the Terran two hundred years ago. Remnant colonies on Terra and Ios remained for another century, to be left for the last time in the year 7012." _The information he had memorized as a child came to him in an instant. Jonis leaned back in his chair and silently calculated. _It's 8014 now, by our count. If the last confirmed inhabitants of Terra were gone by 7012, Phoebe must have been on one of the last ships to leave the system. _Recalling the crash that had stranded her on Terra, Jonis shuddered. _Or the last ship that tried to leave._ He closed his eyes as more of her memories flooded back to crowd his mind's eye with alien images.

_A vast gray sky…the face of a smiling man with wide spectacles…a flash of lightning…the clouds breaking over an endless expanse of blue water… _

However long she had been in the space craft, however long she had been imprisoned in the pillar of crystal, there was no chance that Phoebe had forgotten her home. Of that, Jonis was sure.

"Mr. Locherman?"

His eyes snapped open.

"Huh?"

It was the tall doctor, Doctor Stoddart. He had replaced his mask and gloves and stood at Phoebe's side, his broad brow creased in concern.

"I thought I'd let you know. The Museum people are here. They want to speak with you."

Jonis sighed and ran his fingers through his hair in an expression of frustration. He had known they would be coming for him soon, but he had hoped to have a few words with Phoebe before their scientists got to her. He glanced once more at the inert figure on the hospital bed and stood. Clearly she would not be awake for a while yet. Resigned, he allowed Dr. Stoddart to show him out into the anteroom.

The head nurse was waiting for them, her taut features pulled even tighter beneath her mask. Fidgeting in his place next to her, his tweed suit rumpled and his gray hair in an amusing state of disarray, was Dr. Bromley.

"Mr. Locherman!"

Jonis wished he could turn around and return to Phoebe's side. Even if she was sedated, he took her for better company that this overly enthusiastic little anthropologist. But the scientist was not the sole Charter representative in the room. A second man stepped forward, his neat dark suit a blatant contrast to the antiseptic white of the walls and floor. Surprised for a moment, Jonis noted that he had been talking quietly with the policemen in the corner; that was why he had not noticed him. The man's bearded face was set in a grim and unreadable expression. He echoed Dr. Bromley's greeting with a much lesser degree of excitement.

"Mr. Locherman."

Jonis nodded, for lack of any better response. He did not like the look of the man very much; as a representative of the Council and the Charter, he could only imagine what he had to say to him.

The man cast a sidelong glance at Dr. Bromley and continued. "Mr. Locherman, my name is Andryn Devins, sub-consul to Councilman Jordan. Dr. Bromley and I…" he trailed off abruptly as he caught sight of the door to Phoebe's room. The yellow glow of Sterilamps shone faintly from inside. Jonis saw the sub-consul swallow sharply.

"Yes?"

"Dr. Bromley and I…" he said again, tearing his gaze from the door. He cleared his throat and glanced at Dr. Stoddart. "May we continue this conversation outside, please?"

Stoddart nodded and gestured to the hallway. Puzzled, Jonis followed the Charter representatives, Sorenson and Kale on his heels. The nurse and the doctor stayed inside. As they emerged from the anteroom, the hulking guard saluted the sub-consul.

"Sir? I cleared the room across the hall, like you asked. It's secure."

Devins nodded once. "This one?" he pointed.

"Yes sir."

Without a word, Devins motioned for the little group to follow him into the designated room as the guard resumed his impenetrable stance at the entrance to Phoebe's ward. "Officer Kale, would you shut the door behind you?" Devins asked as the policeman filed in after his partner.

Kale complied.

"Thank you."

Jonis could feel the weight of what was about to be said hanging between the sub-consul, the anthropologist and himself. The air was fairly crackling with Devin's authority, but Jonis didn't care. He long ago thrown away his fear of upsetting the powers-that-be. _And besides,_ he thought._ Phoebe's free. I was _right_. What's the worst I've got to fear from the Council now? They've got their stuffy suits and a guard; I've got the Terran Lady's trust_. At the thought, he smiled slightly_. I _do _have her trust. And this man knows it. _

Devins' jaw tightened slightly as he motioned for Jonis to have a seat. The room he had selected for the conference was a doctor's consulting office, bare and unadorned except for a few medicine cupboards, a pair of stools and a green-sheeted examining table. Jonis took note of the fact that there were no windows_. The Council's taking security pretty seriously, I guess. _A ticking clock on the wall informed the party that it was ten minutes after six in the morning. Jonis drew one of the stools to the far wall and sat.

The sub-consul watched him carefully, delaying his speech for a moment longer. Jonis leaned against the wall and waited in silence. At long last, Devins began. "Mr. Locherman, I don't think I need to give a prelude to why we're all here this morning. I hope that much is clear."

"Crystal."

Devins looked up sharply. Jonis made sure to disguise any amusement in his expression when he spoke, but the sub-consul's reaction told him what he wanted. Devins knew the details of how he had acquired his shoulder wound. _The curator wouldn't have left that out, I guess._

"Yes. Then you know why I am here," Devins continued. "And that might be best; it will save time." He turned to the police officers. "I take it that these men have informed you of the Charter law you stand in offense against?"

Jonis raised his eyebrows. "They mentioned it, yeah."

"And you, as an employee of the Museum, understand the ramifications of such an offense?"

Devins' haughty manner irritated Jonis, but he remembered Sorenson's advice and did his best to cooperate without angering the sub-consul. "Yes."

"Sir?" The timid word from Dr. Bromley brought Devins' gaze in the little man's direction.

"What?"

"I believe the Council mentioned that, in light of…"

But the sub-council would not allow the scientist to finish. "Yes, yes, I will get there. Please don't interrupt, doctor." He returned his attention to Jonis. "As I'm also sure you are aware, the Charter representatives in the city are convening at this moment to discuss the decision of the Council."

"Ok." Jonis folded his arms, careful to avoid jostling his bad shoulder.

Devins' continued. "I was at this Council meeting. The curator called us together immediately after the…the _incident_." Jonis could not miss the emphasis he put on the last word. "He told us what happened."

"Really?" Jonis could not resist faking a little incredulity, though he had a feeling he would regret it later. "What happened?"

The sub-consul gave him a look that might have curdled new milk. "He told us how one of his night guards had broken protocol and destroyed the Terran Lady exhibit with the bronze replica of her planet."

Jonis arched his eyebrow. "Was that all he said?"

To his triumph, Devins lowered his head and sighed. His voice was strained with annoyance. "Of course not, Mr. Locherman. Don't play the fool; we both know the truth here."

"So spit it out. _Sir_," he added, half in apology and half in mockery. The painkillers the doctor had given him were wearing off and he was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Added to that his eagerness to get back to Phoebe, and Jonis was quickly losing his patience with the man's politic way of dancing around the issue.

Devins met Jonis' level gaze once more. "Very well." He leaned against the counter and folded his hands in front of him. "Mr. Locherman, I am here to make you aware of the charges laid against you by the Royal Council of Antiquities and the city's presiding members of the Agaetian Charter for the willful and voluntary destruction of the Terran Lady exhibit. Your trial will commence when the Council and Charter members have concluded documenting the events of last night for the History."

Jonis' jaw dropped and he stood, furious. "I'm being put on trial? For what? Breaking some crystal? I saved her _life_!"

The sub-consul maintained his haughty expression as he held up a hand to silence Jonis. "I am also here to inform you that the Council is fully aware of the Terran girl's existence, and that they have and will continue to take that into consideration in their judgment."

Jonis had to bite his tongue to keep what he was thinking from spilling into words. _They can't seriously condemn me to prison with Phoebe standing in front of them!_ he seethed silently, indignant_. She's…she's living justification!_ But at that thought, he pulled back_. Not that that's all she is, of course._

"There is one more thing, Mr. Locherman," Devins added, ignoring the wounded man's obvious anger. "It is the Council's wish that, in the time between now and your trial, you work with Dr. Bromley here."

Jonis blinked in surprise and glanced at the diminutive anthropologist. Dr. Bromley beamed back.

"Why?"

Devins raised an eyebrow. "From what the curator has reported to the Council, there exists between you and the Terran a certain connection that may prove useful to learning more about her and her civilization. Dr. Bromley is the Charter's leading Terran anthropologist, and he had requested to be made head of this project. So you will be working with him."

"She's not some scientific playground, _sir_," Jonis said sharply. "I can't help you like that."

"This is not a request, Mr. Locherman." The sub-consul's voice carried a dangerous edge to it.

All at once, Jonis realized the precarious position he was in. He had toyed with the idea before, the idea that setting Phoebe free would send him to prison. But that was only when he hadn't been sure if she was real or not; upon her emergence from the pillar, he had forgotten all about the possibility of punishment. Forgotten, that is, until the icy tone of the sub-consul brought the reality to his mind again. In those seven words, Jonis felt the sudden tilting of the scales of justice. When before he had assumed his heroism stood equally balanced with his crime, now he felt a tremendous weight pulling those scales in favor of the law.

_Perhaps,_ he noted bitterly, _it's because the Charter holds the scales—and always has._ Phoebe or no Phoebe, he had broken their law; justice would have to be served.

Jonis sat again, pushing his fingers through his hair in frustration. If the Council asked him to work with Dr. Bromley as payment for his crime, he would have to comply. _I suppose it could be worse, _he mused, resigned. _Much worse._

"Fine."

Dr. Bromley just about leapt across the room to shake Jonis' hand, his wrinkled face screwed up in an expression of delight.

Devins nodded curtly, ignoring the scientist's enthusiasm. "Very wise, Mr. Locherman. We have…" But he was cut off by the opening of the door and the sudden appearance of Dr. Stoddart. "What is it?" he asked, annoyed at the interruption.

But the doctor did not speak to him, his reply instead directed to Jonis. The taller man's face was drawn in a curious expression of apprehension and excitement as he answered.

"She's awake."


	9. The Story Begins

~ Chapter VIII ~  
**The Story Begins**

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* * *

**

Jonis was on his feet in an instant.

"Is she all right?" he asked, addressing Dr. Stoddart as he made for the door. But the doctor could not answer; with a frown and a raised hand, Devins brought Jonis to a halt.

"Wait a moment, Mr. Locherman. We weren't finished here yet."

Jonis felt the vein in his forehead throb angrily. His back to the sub-consul, he sought Stoddart's eye, waiting for the answer to his question. But the doctor only shrugged, unwilling to defy the sub-consul. Mustering all the composure he could, Jonis turned to face the dark-suited man. Jonis noted the fact that Dr. Bromley had started forward when Stoddart made his announcement, but at the sub-consul's word he had pulled back. Jonis felt a sudden wave of pity for the anthropologist as he watched the conflict rage beneath his wrinkled face. After a moment of silence, Jonis raised his eyes to the dark-suited man and spoke.

"Well, I'm sorry, _sir_, but I am finished." He made an encouraging motion to Dr. Bromley. "I agreed to work with your scientist here, and if you don't mind, I think we'd best get started." Without another word to the flabbergasted Councilmember, Jonis pushed past Dr. Stoddart and left the room. His angry pulse hummed in his ears, but he allowed himself a sliver of a smile. _I'll bet no one has ever talked to him like that in his life,_ he thought as Dr. Stoddart joined him in the hallway. _And serves him right. _They passed the guard, who regarded them with raised eyebrows but said nothing. As they entered the anteroom, Stoddart pulled Jonis aside.

"Forgive me for asking, Mr. Locherman, but you're not _actually_ under arrest, are you?" the doctor asked, his voice lowered. "Because—I hope you can understand when I say this—I'd rather not go up against the Council. I'm stretching my authority to let you in here in the first place."

Jonis shook his head. "I'm not. At least, I don't think so. Not officially. But thank you for doing this, doctor."

"Mr. Locherman!"

Jonis sighed. It was Dr. Bromley. The man's pattering footsteps echoed in the corridor as he crossed the hall. "Yes, doctor?" he replied wearily, turning.

The anthropologist gave the guard a dirty look as he squeezed past his bulk, but his expression twisted upwards into a tentative smile as he faced the night watchman. "Do…do you really want to get started now? I mean, you _do _want to work with me?" The man lowered his head for a second, studying his shoes as the words sunk in. Abashed with the awkward-sounding inquiry, he turned to Stoddart. "Er…is she ready? Can she…is she strong enough to talk?" The last words tumbled out of the older man's mouth so quickly Jonis had a hard time understanding him. But his childlike enthusiasm, coupled with the unexpected touch of shyness he had suddenly displayed, made it impossible to write his manner off as mere annoyance. The man—however strange and persistent he seemed—was genuinely interested in Phoebe, and that was a quality Jonis did not feel right to so quickly disregard.

_As an official, he's certainly better company than that Devins, _Jonis reminded himself. _And I'd still take this over prison._ "Yeah," he answered at last, the frustration in his voice considerably abated.

Dr. Bromley beamed. "Excellent!"

But Dr. Stoddart gave Jonis a sharp look before he could respond and pulled him aside. "Dr. Bromley, would you give us a moment?"

The anthropologist waved the two away as he backed towards the door, ignoring the doctor's serious expression. "Of course, of course! I need my things before we see her, anyway. I'll be right back!" Still beaming, he left the room, muttering excitedly to himself. Jonis and Stoddart watched him go. As the door swung shut behind the scientist, Phoebe's doctor turned to Jonis.

"Do you know exactly what type of 'work' it is you plan to help him with?"

Jonis shrugged. "He's a Terran expert, apparently. I'm guessing he'll want to ask her a little about her planet."

The doctor frowned. "And you'll be there with him?"

Jonis knit his brows. "Of course."

"Then you can't allow him to press her too much, Mr. Locherman. You…"

Jonis held up his hand. The formality 'Mr. Locherman' was beginning to irritate him. "Please, it's Jonis."

Stoddart waved, impatient. "Fine. But Jonis, you saw what state she's in." He glanced over the watchman's bandaged shoulder. "You probably understand it better than anyone."

"Probably," Jonis agreed. "But I don't think he'll have too much in mind for his first visit. Anyway, I'll make sure she doesn't strain herself."

"Good." The tall doctor sighed, a sudden look of weariness crossing his broad features. For a moment Jonis wondered how long he had been awake, fighting for Phoebe's life. "I figure I can trust you with this, Mr. Loc…Jonis." Stoddart cast a quick glance towards the shut door. "You've already seen how the Council has taken control of this…er…situation."

"Yeah, I sort of got that impression."

"They're going to want to squeeze all the information out of her that they possibly can, as fast as they can, before…"

"Before what?"

"Jonis, think about it! At the moment, this girl is the most valuable living creature on Agaetis. As soon as word gets out that the Terran Lady is _alive_, every scientist and historian in the world is going to be fighting tooth and nail to gain access to her. The press, too."

"You don't think I know that?"

Stoddart shook his head in impatience. "I _know_ you know it. But as her attending physician, I'm in charge of her well-being. And the Council has already ordered me to report directly to them. So my hands are tied. I'm going to have to follow what they tell me to do…" He broke off.

"And?"

"And so I say that _you're_ going to have to be the one to say when enough's enough. You've got more freedom than I do here. If you're actually working with that Charter anthropologist, you can protect her better than I can."

Jonis' head throbbed with the force of what the doctor was insinuating. "Dr. Stoddart, are you suggesting that the Council would…_endanger_ her? Seriously? How? You said yourself she's the most valuable living creature on Agaetis—they couldn't risk hurting her, whatever they're hoping to learn."

The doctor sighed and pushed his fingers through his hair in an expression of frustration that Jonis recognized all too well. "I'm not saying that they would do it intentionally. But they don't fully comprehend what she's been through. _You_ do. They won't look deeper than her physical wounds. I think you can." Stoddart lowered his voice. "Her body might be able to heal, Jonis, but I'm worried about her mind."

The statement brought Jonis up short, and for a long minute he could not think of a response. The doctor's point was a good one. Jonis had yet to consider what Phoebe might be like, once removed from the context of her unnatural prison. Not once had he held any sort of conversation with her that did not somehow revolve around plans for her escape or encouragement for her survival. He recalled the dead nothingness Phoebe had shown him in her memories of her crystal cage and shuddered. Before Jonis had thought only of liberating her from that; now he wondered if he had possibly come too late. What had a hundred years of oblivion done to her mind? Was it conceivable that the sanity of the young woman in the next room had already been stretched to the breaking point?

"Now do you understand how I would worry?" Stoddart asked.

Jonis nodded slowly, emerging from his sober reverie. "I do."

"And will you be aware of that when you go in there?" the doctor continued, inclining his head towards Phoebe's room.

"I will."

"Good. Then I…"

The door to the hall swung open with a bang, admitting Dr. Bromley and an awkward armful of recording equipment into the anteroom. Dr. Stoddart stopped abruptly.

"Sorry I took so long, Mr. Locherman," the anthropologist said, the color in his cheeks making his silver hair stand out starkly. "But I think this should be enough for now." With a flourish, he deposited his technological burden onto one of the nearby cots. Once safely out of his hands, he turned to the two men and pressed his hands together, eyes sparkling with excitement. "Are we ready? This is going to be history, gentlemen!"

"Dr. Bromley, one more moment, please."

The scientist's face fell visibly as the guard opened the door for sub-consul Devins. He was followed by Sorenson and Kale, both sporting rather puzzled expressions. Jonis understood their confusion as he considered the strange back-and-forth to which they had been subjected, trailing first himself and then the Councilmember. With a sigh, Jonis returned his gaze to the dark-suited authority, raising his eyebrows at the sight of the papers Devins held in his hands. The sub-consul fixed him with an icy glare as he set the stack next to Dr. Bromley's recording equipment.

"Dr. Bromley is quite right to say that this is history," he began. "And as a member of the Royal Council of Antiquities and a representative of the Charter, I must ask you all to sign these nondisclosure forms before you interact with the Terran." Devins gestured for the men to pass them around. "The History is going to want an accurate report of everything that we see and hear in that room, but they need to have assurance that none of you will share that information with any unauthorized person outside of the Council or the Charter."

Jonis was handed an agreement. It was only two pages long, but it might as well have been a hundred. Jonis scanned the paragraphs of impossible legalese with an impatient eye. But it was not only his impatience that made it difficult to concentrate. The calm, chilling and ruthlessly efficient demeanor of the sub-consul had wrought his last nerve, and he wondered when he—if, indeed, he did not already—would begin to hate the man. It took all Jonis' self-control to resist tossing the agreement on the ground and throwing open the door to Phoebe's ward without the accompanying Council lackeys. With an effort, however, he managed to control his anger and reach the end of the document. Devins handed him a pen and Jonis signed his name on the line.

_Jonis Philip Locherman_

With a poisonous glare he shoved the paper into the sub-consul's waiting hand.

"Anything _else_?"

Devins inclined his head. "Not at the moment, Mr. Locherman." He took the offered documents from the others. "Now gentlemen, Dr. Stoddart here has been appointed by the Council as the Terran's temporary physician, and I will ask that you each comply with any and all of his instructions in regards to the Terran's health." Jonis caught the pointed look Devins made in his direction. "And that includes leaving the room. For _any _reason he might have."

Jonis could not help his fist from clenching at his side. He was sick of the bureaucratic hoops the sub-consul was pushing them through. "All right! We understand. Now may we go in?"

The dark-suited man lifted his eyebrows and made a disapproving sound in his throat. He nodded in Dr. Stoddart's direction. "Doctor, please help Dr. Bromley and Mr. Locherman prepare themselves. When you are finished I would like to speak with you for a moment. And your nurse—I'd like to speak with her as well."

"I'll bring her," Stoddart replied, exchanging a knowing look with Jonis.

"Good. Gentlemen?" Devins continued.

Since they had entered the room, Sorenson and Kale had been steadily edging their way away from Phoebe's door. At the sub-consul's address they halted. "Sir?" Kale answered for them both.

"I think it would be wiser for you to stand guard across the hall. My man here will keep his eye on Mr. Locherman."

Jonis could not help but note the look of relief that flashed across their faces. Kale cast him an apologetic glance before answering the Councilmember. "That would be no problem, sir."

"Good." Without another word, Devins exited the room, with Sorenson and Kale following closely at his heels.

The door shut behind them with a bang, and Jonis' fist relaxed.

Stoddart immediately took control of the little group. "Dr. Bromley, have you sterilized your recording equipment?"

The anthropologist nodded vigorously. "Of course, of course!"

"Good. Then would both of you scrub your hands and arms here?" He indicated the metal sink in the corner. "And use the Sterilamp to dry."

They did so.

"All right. Now masks and robes." Stoddart handed them each a filter mask and a dull green cloth apron. The articles smelled strongly of hospital antiseptic, but Jonis didn't mind. Dr. Bromley's enthusiasm for their meeting with the alien girl had rubbed off onto him a strange sense of nervous excitement. Seeing Phoebe was one thing; saving her was another. But _talking_ to her…having a real conversation with a creature older than his great-great-grandfathers…listening to the extraterrestrial tales she would undoubtedly have to tell…_that_, Jonis realized, was something for which he was completely unprepared.

He sucked in a deep breath.

"Ready?" Stoddart asked.

Dr. Bromley fidgeted at Jonis' side. "Wait. One moment." He bent to the round instrument held in his trembling hand and tapped in a code on the touchscreen. A little green light blinked on the side of the steel sphere. The anthropologist straightened. "There."

Jonis recognized the instrument as a voice-sensitive mnemonosphere. "Whose voices do you need, doctor?"

Dr. Bromley glanced at the physician. "Will you be joining us?"

Stoddart shook his head. "Not for a while."

"Then just yours and mine," the anthropologist answered, returning his attention to Jonis. "And hers, of course." He offered the palm-sized instrument to Jonis. "Just state your name."

Jonis touched the mnemonosphere to his throat so it would pick up his distinctive vocal patterns without interference.

"Jonis Locherman," he said as clearly as he could, handing the sphere back to Dr. Bromley when he finished. The anthropologist repeated the same procedure.

"Elias Bromley."

The green light flicked twice in response.

"Good. Now we're ready, doctor," Dr. Bromley affirmed.

"You're not taking anything else in?" Stoddart asked, eyeing the remaining pile of equipment tangled on the cot. The anthropologist shook his head.

"Not now," he replied, rubbing one side of his balding head. "I figure we won't…"

But Jonis could stand no more delay. "Doctor, may we?" he interrupted, nodding to Phoebe's room.

Stoddart waved his hand. "Never mind, Dr. Bromley. Jonis is right. She's waiting for you." He stepped forward and pushed open the door for the two men. "Go ahead."

Jonis was the first to enter the Terran's room. Her ever-present computer clipboard clutched in one hand, Nurse Jaessi hovered at Phoebe's side, double checking her IV and heart monitors. At the sound of the door, she looked up.

"Jaessi?" Stoddart called from the anteroom before she could address the visitors. "Would you come with me? The sub-consul wants to see us about something."

With a long-suffering sigh, the nurse gave the Terran girl's vitals one last look before following the doctor out of the room.

The door shut behind her with a quiet click.

~o~

"Oh, great heavens above," Dr. Bromley said under his breath as he surveyed the yellow-tinted scene.

Phoebe lay on the cot, her arm resting on top of the blanket Jaessi had draped over her. The IV trailed from her inner forearm to the bag of fluid suspended on the corner of the bed, and her chest rose and fell in regular rhythm. Jonis thought she looked better than she had when he had first seen her; though the Sterilamps continued to cast her pale skin in an unflattering light, she no longer looked so sickly. _Stoddart was right; she is responding to our medicine…and quickly, too, _Jonis thought in relief. He took a step forward.

"I can't believe this is actually happening to me," Dr. Bromley continued, his eyes never straying from the alien's own.

"J-jonislocherman?"

The anthropologist inhaled sharply at the sound of her voice and Jonis smiled.

"Hey Phoebe." He crossed the remaining distance to her side. "How are you feeling?"

Without moving her head, she raised her eyes to his. _Pale gray_, Jonis noted.

"Ifeel…b-better."

"That's good."

"Jonislocherman, wheream I?"

"Jor-" he began, but a thought stopped him. _How in the world will she know Jordan Hospital from any other on Agaetis? And why would it matter?_ Clearing his throat to correct himself, he amended his answer. "You're in a hospital, Phoebe."

With an infinite degree of care, Phoebe nodded once.

"Mr.…Mr. Locherman?"

Phoebe's eyes darted from Jonis' to the strange man across the room, and Jonis saw her brow furrow slightly.

"Jonislocherman, whoisthat?"

But Dr. Bromley would not allow Jonis to answer for him. Straightening his narrow shoulders, the anthropologist strode over to the other side of her cot, and—in a gesture that took Jonis by surprise—bowed slightly. "My name is Elias Bromley, madam," he said in introduction. "I am a scientist—an anthropologist specializing in Terran history and artifact. And may I say, on behalf of myself, the Agaetian Charter and the entire planet of Agaetis, what an honor it is to meet you."

Phoebe looked faintly puzzled and did not answer.

Jonis smiled again. "Dr. Bromley, I think we need to explain some things." He lowered his voice. "You forget she doesn't know anything about Agaetis."

"Oh." The scientist nodded vaguely. "Of course." Fingering the mnemonosphere, he drew a metal chair from the corner of the room to the side of Phoebe's bed. "Then we should probably sit, yes?"

Jonis followed the older man's example as Dr. Bromley entered a second code on the device's touchscreen. When the little green light blinked, he handed it to Jonis. Phoebe followed every movement with her eyes.

"Phoebe," Jonis began, understanding what it was the anthropologist wanted of him without instruction, "Dr. Bromley and I were wondering if you would be willing to talk with us for a few minutes."

She nodded once, her puzzled expression never wavering.

"Good." Jonis held up the metal instrument for her to see. "This is a mnemonosphere, Phoebe. It's a special recording device—it picks up only the voices that it's been primed with beforehand." A flash of interest sparked in Phoebe's eyes as she turned her gaze from Jonis to the little metal sphere. Jonis continued. "But to record our conversation, you're going to have to give it a good sample of your voice. The doctor and I have already put ours in."

"Iunderstand."

"So you are all right with this?"

"Yes." She glanced at the anthropologist. "Showme whatto do."

"Just say your name as clearly as possible." Jonis stretched his hand out and gently pressed the mnemonosphere to Phoebe's fragile throat.

At the touch of the metal sphere, Phoebe instantly stiffened, eyes wide. In a flash, Jonis recalled the final sensation she had shared with him in her memories of the past. _The press of cold steel…fire and darkness…and then…nothing._ He jerked his hand away the moment he remembered, but he could see in Phoebe's face that she had already relived that horrible experience in the second the metal was in contact with her skin.

"Ah! Phoebe, I'm sorry!"

Dr. Bromley started. "What? What's wrong?"

"She…"

But Phoebe would not let him finish. The panic faded from her eyes as she shook her head in reproach. "N-no. Iam fine, Jonislocherman."

"Are you sure?" he asked, angry with himself for forgetting and worried that the memory had triggered something fearful in her subconscious. Even _he_ could hardly stand to think of what Phoebe had gone through, though his exposure to it was only secondhand. _It must have been a hundred…a thousand times worse for her, _he figured to himself.

Phoebe, however, was adamant. She fixed Jonis with a sharp look. "Put it back."

He hesitated.

"I think you can trust her, Mr. Locherman," Dr. Bromley said slowly. "Whatever it was that just happened there."

Reluctant, Jonis replaced the sphere on Phoebe's throat. "Just myname?" she asked.

"Yes."

She took a deep breath and complied. "Phoebe. Phoebe Regina Reyes."


	10. Far From Home

~ Chapter IX ~  
**Far From Home**

**

* * *

**

Dr. Bromley shifted position in his chair as Jonis set the mnemonoshpere on the cotside table. The green light blinked three times in quick succession, then steadied. The recording had begun.

"Date, 25th September, Year 8014, 6:47 morning, median time," the anthropologist stated in his official introduction. "Dr. Elias Bromley speaking, Charter anthropologist and Terran specialist. Accompanying me is Mr. Jonis Locherman, connection to be explained. We are conducting this interview in the quarantine ward of Jordan Hospital, room 1043, South Sievryck City. Interviewee is…" Dr. Bromley hesitated for a moment as he met the Terran's inquiring gaze. He swallowed. "Interviewee is the young woman formerly known to Agaetians as the Terran Lady, of Museum fame." His introduction at an end, Dr. Bromley settled back in his chair and resumed an air of informality. "I'm sorry, madam, but could you say your name again for the record?"

Phoebe's eyebrow arched weakly at his address, and Jonis thought he caught a ghost of amusement in her eyes. "Phoebe Reyes."

"And is it all right if the doctor calls you Phoebe?" Jonis said quickly. He wasn't sure how many more 'madams' it would take to make his head ache.

Phoebe nodded in assent. For a moment, Dr. Bromley looked taken aback. But after a pause, his wrinkled face broke into a grin. "Very well! Phoebe, then." He said the name carefully, as if it were the answer to some riddle for which he had long been searching. His expression eager, Dr. Bromley leaned forward. "Phoebe—can you tell us what year you were born? And where? Where you were born?"

But Jonis spared her from answering, remembering Stoddart's warning. He coughed sharply. "Dr. Bromley, shouldn't we hold off on the interrogation until we've told Phoebe a little bit about where she is _now_?"

Dr. Bromley looked abashed. "Oh. Of course. Forgive me, mada—Phoebe."

She shook her head once. "Sallright, doctor." Lifting her chin slightly, she looked to Jonis. "So tellme where Iam, Jonislocherman."

"It's just Jonis, Phoebe," he replied, correcting at last the mistake that had puzzled him since they met. "Locherman is my family's name."

Phoebe's brow furrowed, and Jonis could see her trying to work out the separate words. He had figured that she had heard him say it together so often on his nightly rounds, she eventually assumed it was his whole first name.

"Jo-nis."

"There you go. Just Jonis."

"Where am I, Jonis?" she said again after a moment.

He pushed the fingers of his free hand through his hair and let out a short laugh as he exchanged a look with Dr. Bromley. "That's a rather long story, Phoebe. I don't know if I'd know where to begin."

Her gaze steadied and she raised an eyebrow. "Try."

"You are on the planet Agaetis," Dr. Bromley cut in, "On the continent of Oceanas, in Charter territory. This hospital is in South Sievryck City."

Phoebe looked at the anthropologist blankly.

Jonis sighed. _I suppose there's no other way but the hard truth. She'll never understand otherwise. _He cleared his throat. "Agaetis is three systems from the Terran home star, Phoebe," Jonis explained gently. She looked at him without blinking, the shock slowly registering in her eyes as he continued. "It's about a half-dozen light years to your planet."

For a long moment, Phoebe said nothing. The beeping of her monitors filled up the space between the three as the Terran girl absorbed the ramifications of what Jonis was telling her.

"Phoebe? Are you all right?"

But instead of answering, Phoebe's eyes suddenly grew wide. She tried to struggle to a sitting position.

"Hey!" Jonis jumped to his feet and eased her down again. "Don't do that! You're going to hurt yourself again."

"Whatyear did you sayitwas, Jonis?" she whispered, terrified.

"8014, Phoebe. You have to lie down," he insisted, regretting the painful impact the fact was bound to have on her once she had time to process it.

Phoebe glared as she complied, unable to fight him in her weakened state. "I wantto sit," she protested.

Jonis was taken aback at the emotion she was able to muster in those few words. Motioning to his companion, he pointed to the anteroom. "Doctor, would you grab some pillows from the cots in there?"

The anthropologist nodded and departed, returning in a minute with an armful. Jonis took them from him and arranged them behind Phoebe's back, easing her up against them as gingerly as possible. She winced but did not say anything until she was upright. "8014?" she repeated at last in an undertone. Jonis and Dr. Bromley nodded together.

"I'm afraid so."

She did not reply. Jonis could almost see the thoughts running beneath her devastated expression. Incredulity, despair, fear, confusion…all warred for supremacy in her unfathomable gaze. For a moment, Jonis wished he could think of something comforting to say to her, if only to fill the silence. But after another moment's consideration, he knew that was impossible. _What comfort exists for someone who has just discovered that everything they knew and loved has been dead and gone for more than a century?_

"Jonis?"

He snapped out of his reverie. Her voice now seemed smaller, more vulnerable. It was the voice of a frightened child far from home.

"Yes?"

"What happened to me?" Jonis shot a quick glance to the scientist seated beside him. "What happenedto me?" Phoebe repeated in an undertone, her despairing gaze falling from Jonis' face to her hands folded in her lap.

"That may be better coming from you, Dr. Bromley," Jonis said. "I can only tell her what I heard on the news."

Dr. Bromley nodded. "Of course. And please, call me Eli." He settled back in his chair as Phoebe looked up, curious. His face took on a thoughtful expression. "Give me a moment to remember."

They waited in silence as the older man retraced the paths in his memory.

"It began in 7989, I believe," he began at last. "Yes. That was when the Council first applied to the Charter to send an expedition to your system. Twenty-five years ago." The anthropologist smiled to himself. "I had just completed my Ph.D. at University."

_And I was five years old,_ Jonis couldn't help but think to himself. He dimly recalled the rumors that had flown around in '89 regarding the mission to Astrayis Prime. There had been a lot of whispers but no facts until the Council received permission from the Charter, five years later. Then it became a media darling, just as the Council intended.

Dr. Bromley continued, ignoring his companion's reflective attitude. Phoebe was listening with rapt attention. "The mission craft was state-of-the-art. Best our scientists could make. It took all five years for them to complete the seven-man shuttle, and just in time too. The Charter approved their application in 7994."

Snapping out of his memories, Jonis took note of the flash of puzzlement that crossed Phoebe's face. He understood without asking. "Doct…Eli. It might make it easier for Phoebe to follow you if we explain what exactly the Council and the Charter are."

Phoebe nodded her thanks. "He's right."

Dr. Bromley looked a little sheepish, but he complied. "About a hundred years ago, a couple dozen Agaetian nation-states grouped themselves together under a Charter of Alliance. Everyone signed it and elected representatives from each continent…"

"Three out of the five, actually," Jonis added.

"Yes. The people of two continents wanted nothing to do with the Charter. So the rest left them alone and made their own government."

Phoebe's brow furrowed. "Government?" Both Dr. Bromley and Jonis stopped short. "What is government?" she asked, her penetrating gaze shifting from one to the other.

Jonis could hardly believe his ears. If it were anyone else asking, he would have burst out laughing. But the Terran girl's expression, while inquisitive, was also deadly serious. He gaped. _She truly doesn't know!_

"What is _government_?" Dr. Bromley repeated, as astounded as his companion. "You don't know?"

Phoebe shook her head. "What is it?"

"It's…it's…" the anthropologist trailed off. Jonis could understand his difficulty; it was basic enough to defy definition. But they would have to do their best.

"It's a group of people that make laws, Phoebe," Jonis tried.

She arched her eyebrow at his childish explanation but said nothing, gesturing for the anthropologist to continue. Dr. Bromley took a breath, still wonderstruck. "So…the government was formed." He exhaled. "Those in Charter territory have abided by its rule for the past century."

"What isthe Council?" Phoebe asked.

"They're one of three cultural and scientific organizations set up by the Charter about eighty years ago. The Royal Council of Antiquities," Dr. Bromley clarified. "They own the Museum. The others are the Agaetian History and the Academy of Art and Science. "

Phoebe looked at Jonis. "The Council owns the Museum I was in?"

He nodded, feeling odd recalling the curator's claim of ownership on her. _I hope they don't think that anymore,_ he mused. But their earlier interview with sub-consul Devins was not reassuring. "Yeah."

The Terran girl bit her lip and fingered the blanket that covered her torso. "How didI get there?" she asked after a moment.

Jonis nodded to Dr. Bromley, encouraging him to continue his recollections of the mission that had brought Phoebe to their world. "The Charter approved the Council application in '94," he repeated. "They launched a year later."

"Where were they going?" Phoebe asked.

For the first time, Jonis was aware of the remarkable improvement in her speech. She was no longer slurring her words together; in fact, if it weren't for the faintest trace of an alien accent, he would have thought she had spoken their language all her life. _She's a quick learner,_ he remarked to himself as Dr. Bromley began his answer. _Unbelievably quick._

"Astrayis Prime."

"Where?"

"Your system, Phoebe. Astrayis Prime is the name of your star."

She fixed the anthropologist with a strange look. "_Your_ name, Dr. Bromley. Notmine."

Unflappable as ever, Dr. Bromley leaned forward, eager to gather more alien trivia. "What did your people call it?"

A look of incredible sadness flashed across her pale face at the question, and Jonis reached out a hand to arrest her answer, remembering his promise to Dr. Stoddart. But the look passed, and Phoebe waved his hand away. "It was Sol," she said softly. "We called our star Sol."

"Fascinating."

"But there's more to the story, Eli," Jonis reminded him, hoping to stay his curiosity a little longer. It was clear the anthropologist was bursting with other questions for the Terran girl. "Let's finish that first."

Dr. Bromley nodded, restraining his inquisitiveness with an effort. "Of course. The crew was sent to the Astrayis Prime system to gather information about the lost cultures of your worlds. Here on Agaetis," he explained, "we call them the Old Planets. Terra, Meridius and Valakara—the seats of civilization in your system." Phoebe looked on blankly as he continued, and Jonis was sure she didn't know those names any more than she had known Astrayis Prime. Dr. Bromley shrugged as he spoke, missing her expression. "They gradually disappeared from their homeworlds over a millennia. We don't know what happened; we could only speculate. That's why the Council wanted a team in that system."

"What did they find?" Phoebe asked.

"The Council had given them five years to explore. It was my understanding that they could only land on Meridius and Terra, due to some weather complication on Valakara. And Lorn, the Terran moon. But in the end they spent most of their time on Terra."

"Their atmosphere was nearest to ours," Jonis explained. "They didn't have to use up their life-support to explore." _Which made it cheaper for the Council,_ he added to himself. _Of course._

Phoebe nodded in understanding. "And was that where they found me?"

Dr. Bromley cleared his throat. "Er…yes. You were buried in the ice at the retreating edge of their southernmost continent. As one of the crewmembers told it, they weren't even looking for anything down there. But the Council had required them to fly over all landmasses, so it was just a routine pass. The crystal caught the light and just about blinded the pilot of the reconnaissance ship," he recalled with a smile. "I heard his report when they returned home. Said it was the luckiest day of his life!"

Phoebe did not share in his amusement. She kept her eyes on her hands as she spoke. "Did they…did they read any lifesigns?" She paused as Dr. Bromley's smile faded a little. "Anywhere?"

Jonis bit his lip, remembering the news reports. "They didn't, Phoebe. I'm sorry."

She looked up. "Not even me?"

He shook his head and glanced at Dr. Bromley for support. "No."

"The, um, _thing_ you were found in defied our technology," the anthropologist offered apologetically. "We hadn't the slightest idea what it was. You baffled the best of us."

Phoebe's eye widened a bit. "Then…did _no one_ know I was alive?"

The two men shook their heads at the same time. Dr. Bromley tried to explain. "Please don't think so poorly of us, Phoebe. The Academy has made some progress in cryogenics, but none to compare with…with, er, what you experienced."

Jonis helped him. "We didn't know it was _possible_ for you to be alive in there."

For an instant, the Terran's gray eyes flashed, indignant. "Then what did you think I was?"

Jonis reached out a hand to soothe her. "Phoebe, calm down. We thought you were a hologram."

Clearly upset, Phoebe obeyed nonetheless. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them, serenity had returned to her expression. "All right. So then what?"

"So then…" Jonis gestured helplessly. "The Council took you to the Museum. You were their crowning jewel. You have been for three years."

Phoebe sat up a little straighter as a sudden thought took hold of her. "Then…will they recognize me?"

Jonis glanced at Dr. Bromley. "Some may." He drew back his hand. "But whether they do or not, we should warn you that your existence is going to come as a shock to the people of Agaetis. Considering the fact that you were a famous work of art yesterday."

"Oh." Her gaze fell again to her hands.

"Don't worry," Jonis tried to reassure her. "We won't let the news get out until you think you're ready."

Phoebe looked up and met his eye. She spoke softly. "I don't think I'm never going to be ready, Jonis Locherman."

For a few moments, Jonis was robbed of words.

But to his surprise, Dr. Bromley saved him. "Then we will tell the Council exactly that. We'll introduce you to our world on your terms." He nodded his frizzy white head with conviction. "Yours and no one else's."

Phoebe looked startled at the sudden pronouncement. Then she smiled. "Thank you, Dr. Bromley. I…" she swallowed and glanced at Jonis. He could still see the trust in her eyes, but now it was shared with the both of them. The anthropologist had earned her confidence. "I am glad of that."

He inclined his head. "Of course."

Quite abruptly, Phoebe changed the topic. She pulled herself straighter and looked Dr. Bromley in the eye. "You wanted to ask me some things?"

The older man fairly beamed. "Yes! Absolutely!"

Jonis intervened. "As long as you think you're up for it, right Phoebe?"

The Terran girl gave him a look. "I am, Jonis. That's why I asked him."

Ashamed at her reproof, Jonis held up his hands. "Just making sure!" He motioned to his eager companion, hoping for Phoebe's sake that he could control his abundant enthusiasm. "Go for it."

"Give me a moment," Dr. Bromley requested, rising from his seat to feel about his pockets under the hospital robe. "Aha!" Finding what he was looking for, he sat again, withdrawing a rumpled and well-inked notebook from his jacket. Phoebe sat patiently, waiting for him to begin. Jonis wondered why the doctor felt the need to take handwritten notes while the mnemonosphere was already recording their conversation. But he said nothing to interrupt him.

"So…you said your name was Phoebe…Reyes?" Dr. Bromley began, testing her surname. "Is that correct?"

"Yes. Phoebe Regina Reyes." She carefully enunciated the emphasis on the 'y.'

The anthropologist jotted something down in his notebook. "And what year were you born, Phoebe?"

"7894."

Jonis silently calculated her age. _If she was born in 7894 that would make her…120 years old. Chronologically, of course. Biologically, she can't be more than 20._ He was struck once more with wonder at the impossible nature of the creature seated across from him.

"Where were you born?"

"Reyes Laboratories, South Atlantic Archipelago."

Dr. Bromley chewed thoughtfully on the end of his pen. "Atlantic? Where is that?"

"It's one of our oceans," Phoebe answered, her eyes clouding with memories. "My parents had a research facility on the islands. That's where I was born."

Jonis thought of a question and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Phoebe, what did your people call your planet?" he explained.

The anthropologist shot his companion a grateful glance."Yes! I wondered the same thing. What _is_ the Terran name for Terra? We never _have_ been able to reach a consensus from the records alone. They were either too damaged or unintelligible." For a moment the sheepish expression crossed the older man's wrinkled face. "And I'm ashamed to say we've never been able to master the Terran language."

Phoebe gave them both a quizzical look. "You haven't?"

"No. Like I said, the records were too damaged. We have no reference text."

"Damaged by what?" Phoebe asked sharply.

"Fire, mostly. The greater surface area of most of the continents was covered in some sort of ash. We've been speculating its cause since the team brought back the report. It was concentrated around the ruins of cities—that's why most of the records were lost."

The Terran girl's face fell as the weight of his words settled on her. "Then…then the planet was…destroyed?"

Dr. Bromley nodded sadly. "I'm afraid so. The inhabited parts, at least. Like I said, they found no lifesigns." His brow furrowed and he reached out tentatively to pat her hand. "I'm sorry, Phoebe."

She sighed and looked away. "I guess it doesn't matter anymore. Not to me."

Jonis felt his heart go out to the girl on the hospital cot. Her tone was heartbreaking, and despite her words, he could sense the aching loneliness hidden beneath her stoic expression. Whatever she said to the contrary, he could tell that Phoebe Regina Reyes _missed_ her world.

"Phoebe…you don't have to answer now," he said. "We can do this some other time."

"No. I want to." Phoebe looked from Jonis to Dr. Bromley, determination shining in her pale gray eyes. She inhaled deeply and exhaled with a sigh. "Earth. We called our planet Earth."


	11. Earth Child

~ Chapter XI ~  
**Earth Child**

**

* * *

**

"_Earth_." The Charter anthropologist pronounced the name in wonder. He looked at Jonis with raised eyebrows. "We weren't even close."

Jonis nodded. "I guess not."

Dr. Bromley shifted his position on the hard metal chair and flipped to a new page of his notebook. "Thank you for that, Phoebe. Now, would you be willing to tell us what happened before…well, before you were…um…"

Jonis recalled his similar hesitation when he had asked Phoebe that question in the Museum. "Before the explosion on the ship…before you lost consciousness," he finished for Dr. Bromley. The anthropologist nodded gratefully, though the look on his face made it clear Jonis' knowledge puzzled him. _I'll have to remember to tell him,_ Jonis thought. _Though it might be a little hard to explain._

"Er…right. Before that," the anthropologist agreed.

Phoebe let her head fall back against her pillows and closed her eyes. She exhaled forcefully. "It was such a long time ago, doctor. I…I don't know if I can remember everything."

Dr. Bromley bit his lip, unwilling to give up on the story when it was so close to the telling. "Please, do your best."

Jonis put a warning hand on his companion's shoulder. "Don't push her," he whispered.

Phoebe shook her head once and opened her eyes. "No. I'll try."

The older man grinned in relief. "Thank you."

The Terran girl fingered the sheets Nurse Jaessi had draped over her earlier. "My parents were scientists too, doctor. I can understand your curiosity."

"Really? What kind of scientists?"

"My father was an astrophysicist and my mother was a bio-molecular geneticist."

"Oh." The two men drew back, impressed. "Wow."

A shadow of a smile crossed Phoebe's lips. "They loved their work, just like you do."

Dr. Bromley shook off his awe at her formidable lineage. "And you said they owned their own laboratory?"

"Yes. On the South Atlantic Archipelago. My father had inherited a fortune from his grandfather before I was born, and he and my mother bought an island and built the laboratory there, away from the rest of the world."

"They built it by themselves?"

Phoebe shook her head. "My father was rich. He hired workers. But he designed it—he and his colleagues."

"Colleagues?" Dr. Bromley repeated. "Who were they?"

"Thirteen of my parent's fellow scientists. They lived with us in the lab when it was finished."

Jonis frowned. "Just the sixteen of you? These people and your family?"

Phoebe looked at him, a hint of sadness in her eyes. She waited a moment before answering. "Yes," she said at last. "It was just us."

Dr. Bromley jumped on the topic. "Why?"

She shifted her gaze and bit her lip. "What do you know of our world, Dr. Bromley?" she asked after a few seconds of contemplation.

Taken aback, the anthropologist blinked rapidly as he thought of a reply. "What do we know? Goodness, I…um…" He folded the notebook in his hands before he continued. "Well, let me see. We know that the majority of your planet is covered in water, that you receive about the same solar influence from your star as Agaetis does from ours, and that your planet's orbit is roughly the same size as ours. We know that there are six distinct landmasses…"

"Seven."

"Pardon?"

"There are…were seven," Phoebe corrected. "Seven continents."

"Oh!" Dr. Bromley scribbled something in his notebook with a look of satisfaction. "Excellent!"

Phoebe crossed her arms, trailing the IV tube across the sheets. "But what do you know of the people?"

"Well, let me see. Terrans… or Earth, rather." His face screwed up into an expression of puzzlement. "Earthans? Earthish? Earthies?"

A smile flickered on Phoebe's lips, and Jonis could not help but share her amusement. "Human," she corrected calmly. "Just human."

Dr. Bromley looked a little embarrassed, but he continued. "Right. Humans…from Earth. We know that they entered space sometime in the 3000s, to colonize their neighboring planets. Meridius and Valakara, we believe."

Phoebe stopped him. "You must mean Mars and Venus."

"Mars and Venus," the anthropologist repeated, writing the names in his notebook. "Understood."

"And after they first entered space?"

"The colonies on Mer…Mars and Venus developed over the next few thousand years to form their own civilizations. They sent colonies out to some of your system's moons in 5075. Ios and Lorn were the primary sites."

"Lorn is our name for Terr…Earth's moon," Jonis explained.

"Ah." Phoebe shrugged. "We just called it the moon. Go on."

Dr. Bromley obeyed. "Around 7200 the Valas people abandoned their planet. We never found out exactly why. Two hundred years later, the Meridi followed. Their civilizations were scattered across a dozen different systems…"

"Are they still there?" Phoebe asked, her face brightening a little. But the anthropologist shook his head sadly.

"I'm sorry Phoebe. There are very few cultures we are aware of that can trace their ancestry directly to either planet. Those that can don't remember any more than we do."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry," he said again. Clearing his throat, he continued with his narrative. "Terra…Earth was another story." Phoebe looked up, her gaze intense as she readied herself to absorb his words. "The majority of your people left your planet two centuries ago." He frowned. "But surely you know this? If you were born in…"

She helped him. "7894."

"Yes. If you were born then, the departure would only have been…"

"Eighty years or so," Phoebe said with a sigh, finishing his thought for him. "You're right."

Jonis leaned forward, interested despite his desire to keep her from too-painful memories. "_Do_ you remember, Phoebe?"

The Terran girl looked up. "My parents didn't like talking about it. But I knew." She made a frustrated gesture. "I just want to hear what _your_ people think happened."

Jonis leaned back, understanding her desire. "Ah."

"We don't know much, I'm ashamed to say," the older man replied, rubbing his grizzled chin. "Around 7800, a high percentage of your planet's population took to the stars. A few colonies remained, on T…Earth and on Ios. Then, a hundred years ago, they vanished. We don't know if they died or if they left, though the ruins of the surface suggest…" He stopped at a motion from Jonis. Phoebe's eyes were shining, and it was not from excitement. The waves of emotion tossing behind her guarded gaze worried him.

"Phoebe? Do you want us to stop?" Jonis asked, concerned. But she shook her head.

"No. I'm fine. Continue," she said, raising her eyes to the anthropologist's.

Dr. Bromley shrugged and spread his hands in apology. "That's all we know."

"Oh."

"Yes, it's dismal, I admit," the older man agreed with a sigh. Enthusiasm sparked in his eyes as he opened to a new page in his notebook. "But that was where I was hoping…you might be able to fill in the blanks for us."

To Jonis' surprise, Phoebe smiled, controlling her emotions. "I'll do my best, as I said."

"Thank you!" He chewed contemplatively on the end of his pen. "So your parents owned a laboratory in the…South Atlantic Archipelago, yes?" Phoebe nodded. "All right. And you three lived with these thirteen other scientists in the complex?" Again she signified the accuracy of his words. "Good. But why just the sixteen of you?"

Phoebe fingered the IV tube, collecting her thoughts. "As you know," she spoke at last, "only a few scattered colonies remained on Earth when I was born. I know as much as you as to the reason the rest left; my guess is they were simply eager to explore. The planet was getting crowded."

Dr. Bromley inclined his head. "That makes sense."

"My parents grew up among those that remained." She shook her head. "My father didn't like talking about it, but my mother told me. It was chaos. When the others left, our civilization was crippled."

Jonis whistled to himself at the revelation. _No wonder she had never heard of government before! Two hundred years of chaos…two hundred years of anarchy. _He could well understand Phoebe's parents' desire to escape that madness behind the walls of their laboratory. _I wouldn't want to raise a child in a world like that._

"So they took you to live on this island?" Jonis interjected. "With their colleagues?"

"Yes. When there was yet some semblance of an educational system, my parents had studied with them. On the mainland," she clarified. "They all agreed to leave together. My father gave them a chance to pursue their projects in peace."

"What sort of projects?"

Phoebe shrugged. "Oh, all sorts. My father worked with three other astrophysicists on a new shuttlecraft design. It was his passion, space travel. The others helped him with different parts of it."

"Like what?"

"My mother and another biologist designed the life support systems; two others were engineers. They helped with the construction." Phoebe waved her hand. "I can't remember all the rest. I was still a child when they began building the ship."

"Why did your father want to build it?" Jonis thought to ask. He couldn't comprehend why someone would voluntarily blast themselves into the icy vacuum of space, since he had never felt the desire himself.

Phoebe shrugged again. "Like I said, it was his passion. He…" but she had to stop. Tears were sneaking into her voice and she swallowed sharply to curb them.

"Nevermind, Phoebe. Forget I asked," Jonis said in apology

Dr. Bromley helped her recover. "Tell us more about your life on this island of your parents'. If you don't mind," he added hastily.

The Terran girl took a deep breath and mastered her sorrow. "I don't." She sighed. "I was born there." The corners of her mouth lifted in an ironic smile. "My parents couldn't believe it."

"What do you mean?" Jonis asked, curious.

The smile faded, to be replaced with bewilderment. But in a moment it passed. "I'm sorry," she answered softly. "I forgot to mention it." With a frown of self-reproach she continued. "The ships…the ships our people built to leave Earth the first time…" Her sentence trailed off as the memory returned.

"Yes?" Dr. Bromley encouraged gently.

"They were what crippled our planet. That's what my mother told me."

"How?"

"Their engines. Their propulsion systems leaked radiation. No one thought to check for it, because no one cared about those they left behind. One or two ships might have made no difference; maybe even a dozen would have been all right. But they left with thousands. All over the world."

Jonis saw what had happened. "Leaving the radiation behind?"

Phoebe nodded. "At least, so my mother said. But it made sense. The radiation of ten thousand shuttlecraft…it was enough to destroy us."

"What do you mean?" Dr. Bromley pressed. "Your parents and grandparents obviously survived."

"It didn't kill anyone outright," Phoebe amended. "It got inside our planet. Inside our food and water. A lot of my mother's research was dedicated to tracing its effects. But by the time three generations had passed, she was too late to do much about it."

Caught up in the spell of Phoebe's history, Jonis urged her to continue, despite his desire to guard her from too-probing questions. "And…?"

She sighed. "By the time I was born, nearly every female on Earth was barren. Human, animal, even most plant species…everything was sterile."

Dr. Bromley sucked in a sharp breath. "Ah! That _does _make sense." The well-chewed pen jotted more notes in his notebook. Jonis gave him a look of reproach for the insensitivity of his words.

But Phoebe ignored him. "That was why my parents were so amazed. They had long since given up hope of having children." She traced meaningless patterns on the stark white cloth of the blanket. "I was their miracle."

"And you were unaffected by this…radiation?" the anthropologist queried.

"No." Both men looked up. "My mother nearly miscarried twice. I almost died while she was giving birth. And," Phoebe stopped to make sure they were paying attention, "I was…born with genetic complications."

Jonis thought the pause odd. He asked her to explain.

"It would have been in my mother's department, bio-molecular genetics. But she was too weak after birth to help me." Phoebe smoothed the IV tape against her skin as she spoke. "When I was old enough to ask, my father wouldn't give me the details. All I know is that it took all twelve of them to save me."

Dr. Bromley strove to clarify. "Your father's colleagues, you mean?"

"Yes. They had to do some radical experiments to keep me alive."

"Did you ever find out what they were?" Jonis asked.

To his surprise, Phoebe smiled, abashed. "My father didn't want me to know too much. He said it didn't matter how I was alive, only _that_ I was alive. But I wanted to know. When I was ten I pestered one of his colleagues until she told me."

"And…?"

"And she told me that they had each contributed some of their healthy DNA to repair what was damaged in mine. Extremely risky, she said. But my parents were desperate."

Dr. Bromley whistled in amazement. "From all of them? Wasn't there…I mean couldn't there have been…" He scratched his balding head. "Acceptance issues? I'm no biologist, but that seems like a long shot, even to me."

Phoebe nodded. "It was. And it was risky, like I said." She frowned, the previous light of her smile dimmed beneath the sudden pall of a disturbing memory. "They tested their DNA beforehand, to check for compatibility." The frown deepened. "There was one that couldn't contribute."

"Just one?"

She lifted her head, her expression one of unknowable sorrow. "Yes." Her voice fell. "But it was enough."

Jonis wondered what she meant, but Dr. Bromley had already jumped ahead. "And you recovered after this…experimental procedure?"

The gloomy veil dissipated, leaving only resignation on Phoebe's face. "I did. And quickly." She paused. "But it had consequences they weren't expecting."

"Like what?"

Phoebe narrowed her eyes as she looked from Jonis to the anthropologist. "You haven't noticed?"

"Noticed what?" the two men asked together.

She tilted her head, amazed at their density. "You didn't notice, perhaps, that I am quite fluent in your language now?"

Jonis pulled back with a start. Phoebe was right—she _was_ fluent. Even the trace of her alien accent had disappeared. Now, not half an hour since he had first noted her improvement, she spoke like a native-born Agaetian. "I thought…I thought you learned when you were in the Museum," he tried, "because you heard it spoken around you."

Phoebe arched an eyebrow and Jonis saw genuine amusement in her expression. "And you think that is an easy thing to do, Jonis Locherman?"

He had no response.

"What else?" Dr. Bromley urged her to continue.

Phoebe did not take her eyes off Jonis'. "You never wondered how it was that I spoke to you in the Museum, either?"

Dr. Bromley's head swiveled like an owl's as he turned to his companion. "What?"

Jonis ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "I didn't think about it too much, Phoebe, because I was worried that I was hearing things. I thought I was going crazy."

Unaware of the exchange they were referring to, Dr. Bromley nudged Jonis with his elbow. "What are you talking about?" he whispered.

"I heard Phoebe's voice in my head when I was going through my circuit at the Museum," he explained. "That's how I knew she was alive."

The older man faced Phoebe again with wide, wondering eyes. "You…you're _telepathic_?"

Phoebe shook her head. "No. It was the crystal, I think—it amplified my thoughts somehow. But the fact that my thoughts were conducive to it is rather interesting, don't you think?"

"Yes…that's amazing," murmured Dr. Bromley falling back in his chair. After a moment, he sat up again. "Was that everything that changed about you? After these scientists treated you, I mean?"

Phoebe watched the two men's faces carefully as she answered. "You haven't been very observant, doctor. And neither have you, Jonis."

"What do you mean?" they asked in unison.

A small smile flitted across Phoebe's lips. Instead of replying, she reached up to the collar of her hospital gown and drew down the fabric a few inches, revealing the pale, unblemished skin of her throat.

Jonis had to stare for a full minute before he understood.

_Unblemished skin…_

It had been mere hours since he had feared for her life—feared especially that the wounds on her neck had come too close to her jugular. _Yet here she is, apparently unharmed…_ Jonis peered closer. It was difficult to discern in the glare of the Sterilamps, but he thought he could trace a few faint red scars running down the side of her neck—hardly noticeable, and hardly life-threatening.

"Oh my…" Dr. Bromley could not even finish his sentence.

Jonis felt his mind whirl. He took Phoebe's hand and inspected her arm. There, too, her injuries had faded considerably, if not disappeared altogether. "You're a…you…"

"I'm a quick healer."

Jonis silently christened that the understatement of the century. He released her arm. "That's unbelievable, Phoebe."

"They were the unexpected side effects of the treatment."

"Is that…" Dr. Bromley began, searching for the words, "is that how you survived your, er, experience in the crystal?"

Phoebe shrugged. "I have no idea. Maybe." She drew a finger lightly over the thin red line that had once been a cut on her arm. "I'm sure it helped."

The anthropologist leaned forward. "Pardon me, Phoebe, if you don't want to answer. But may I ask how you found yourself in…well, how you found yourself in the crystal in the first place?" He nodded to his companion. "Jonis mentioned an explosion. What happened?"

Jonis caught the pain that flickered across her face at the question, and he laid a hand on the older man's arm to stay his inquiry. But before he could speak, Phoebe fixed him with a reproachful glance. "Jonis, no. I know what you're going to say. But I need to remember." She swallowed. "I need to deal with it." Her eyes narrowed. "And I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't baby me so."

Jonis was robbed of words. A little ashamed at her reproof, he felt defensive thoughts rise in his head. _Well sorry! I was just…_ He paused and considered what he had thought. _I didn't think you were strong enough,_ he realized with a start. Dr. Bromley raised his eyebrow as the younger man lifted his hands in surrender. _I didn't think you could handle it. And neither did Dr. Stoddart. _But studying her face, Jonis felt his attitude shift. Though it was clear she was fighting many strong surges of pain and sorrow, Phoebe bravely upheld an expression of reasonable serenity. _Well then…I guess I was wrong,_ he concluded, amazed at her resilience.

Unaware of the night watchman's musings, Phoebe turned to the scientist beside her. "I showed Jonis my memories of…well, of a lot of things. Earth, my father, the ship…but mostly the last things I remember." She sighed. "There _was_ an explosion. But it's a long story." Phoebe glanced up to meet both pairs of eyes. Her voice was grave. "Because it wasn't an accident."


	12. Twelve Against One

~ Chapter XII ~**  
Twelve Against One**

**

* * *

**

"What was it then?" Dr. Bromley asked. His notebook lay on his lap, untouched for the moment. Like Jonis, he was caught up in Phoebe's story.

Phoebe frowned and said nothing.

"Phoebe?" Jonis asked.

She looked up. "No, I heard. I was just thinking." Quite unexpectedly, she turned to him with a piercing stare. "Jonis, I'd like to try something."

He sat back in his chair, a little startled. "Oh…what?"

"Your question about the crystal got me wondering," Phoebe addressed Dr. Bromley even as she held Jonis' gaze. "I said I wasn't telepathic, and that's true. But I definitely spoke to Jonis in the Museum. I want to know if I can do it again. It might make telling you the rest of the story a little easier," she added, almost as an afterthought. Her eyes fell to her lap. "It's not very easy for me to put into words."

Dr. Bromley exchanged glances with Jonis, apparently lost for a response. "I…ah, I'm sure…if…"

"I'll do it."

Phoebe smiled. "Thank you."

Dr. Bromley shrugged. "I supposed there's no harm in trying. But, ah…" he gestured with his notebook, "will you permit me to take notes?"

"Of course, doctor."

Jonis pulled his chair closer to Phoebe's side. "So what do you want me to do?" he asked. The words sounded a little more awkward than he had intended, but Phoebe didn't seem to notice.

"I have no idea if this will work or not, but I'm going to try it like I did in the Museum." She settled back against the pillows and closed her eyes.

"Am I supposed to…?" Jonis began, but Phoebe shook her head.

"Just listen. Let me know if you can hear what I'm saying."

"Oh. All right."

He did so. Apart from the beeping of the heart monitor, the room was silent. Jonis did his best to keep his mind quiet and listen for the ghostly voice he knew belonged to the Terran girl. But there was nothing. Only the sound of his own breath and the muted scribbling of Dr. Bromley's well-chewed pen. After a minute or two of silence, Phoebe opened her eyes.

"Anything?"

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Phoebe."

She frowned. "Then I'd like to try one more thing, if that's okay with you."

"What?"

Instead of answering, Phoebe reached for his face.

Instinctively, Jonis withdrew from her hand. She stopped, confused. "Is something wrong?"

He shook his head, ashamed of himself. A sudden memory of their last truly telepathic encounter—the night Phoebe had proven her existence beyond all doubt—had sent his guard up, and he felt himself fearing what might follow such raw contact. But his conscience got the better of him after a moment. _We've been asking Phoebe to recount the end of her world and the death of everything she's ever loved, and I shrink from seeing a second-hand memory? Am I really such a coward?_ With that thought he steeled himself and leaned forward again.

"I'm sorry, Phoebe. I'm ready."

Her hand did not move, and she watched him with doubt-filled eyes. "Are you sure?"

With a look of self-reproach, he took her hand in his own and pulled it towards his face. "Yeah, I am."

For a moment it felt as though she might resist, but with a shrug and a frown she nodded. "All right. But like I said, I don't know if this will w…"

She had no need to finish her disclaimer. The instant her fingers met his temple, they knew.

It took all Jonis' willpower not to jerk away, severing the contact that sent such overpowering images flooding through his mind. But Phoebe was stunned as well, and he felt her hand trembling. After a few moments she drew back.

Dr. Bromley looked from one to the other. "Well? Did it work?"

Sucking in a deep breath, Phoebe nodded.

"What did you see?" he asked Jonis.

Jonis met Phoebe's gaze before answering, for he wasn't sure she wanted Dr. Bromley to know what he had seen. She looked up at him with wide eyes, and he understood. "Nothing yet," he lied. "We…we just needed to know it works."

Phoebe swallowed and sat up straighter on the hospital bed. "It does," she agreed. "And I'm ready to show you, Jonis."

He sat forward in his chair, his hands on his knees, preparing himself to enter her mind once more. It was all he could do not to grit his teeth. "Go for it."

She stretched her hand towards his forehead once more…then the world dissolved into darkness.

~o~

They opened their eyes to a scene of twisted metal, fire and utter confusion. Jonis, looking at everything through Phoebe's perspective, could feel terror welling up inside of him. He knew it was only Phoebe's emotion—and just a memory at that—but it was wholly overpowering. His own heart began to race and he could sense the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Mustering his concentration, he focused on separating his consciousness from Phoebe's memories as much as possible, while still observing what she was trying to show him.

The scene faded.

_Jonis? _

Phoebe's voice was ghostly, just as it had been in the Museum. Jonis' throat convulsed a little as he tried to reply, remembering at the last moment that an audible response was not necessary. _Hmmm?_ he thought, hoping she could hear him.

_I need to go further back than that. You saw the result; I want to show you the cause._

_All right._

His mind's eye plunged beneath a wave of onrushing sounds and images, all wholly foreign to him. He had lost all concept of time. Dizziness overwhelmed his physical body, and he lowered his head onto his hands, hoping that Phoebe would come to some coherent memory soon.

All of a sudden it ceased. A strange scene swam into his mind's eye, hazy and distorted by what looked like mist. What he could see clearly was fractured and illogical, as if it had been constructed in contrary dimensions. It took him a moment to figure out what was wrong.

He had done his best to separate Phoebe's consciousness from his own, and in doing so, he had severed their perspectives. What he could now see was Phoebe's memory; what he could not see was his own nonexistent memory for that time period. When he tried to place them side by side, the real image was broken by his incompatible point of view. Jonis sighed. Clearly, if he wanted to see what Phoebe had to show him, he would have to sacrifice—at least temporarily—autonomy over his mind's eye. It was not a pleasant prospective, but there seemed to be no other option. Summoning all his courage, he allowed himself to relax into Phoebe's memory, relinquishing his hold on the present. The disjointed scene flowed together and the mist disappeared, and with it, Jonis' sense of himself.

He was now all hers.

* * *

She stood on the deck of a spacecraft, bubbly with excitement. Today was going to be a good day. Her father had promised her a surprise, something special to mark the third anniversary of their departure from Earth. That, and her nineteenth birthday. Phoebe smiled to herself. Her mother had done her best to keep it a secret, but Celeste had let it slip.

_Celeste always lets it slip,_ Phoebe thought. _She couldn't keep a secret if her life depended on it! Not that I'm complaining…_

Footsteps interrupted her pleasant musings, and Phoebe froze. She wasn't supposed to be in this corridor—Malen had made that abundantly clear the last time he caught her outside his lab. Spoiled brat, he had called her; in words that barely passed as civil he threatened severe retribution if he ever found her near his lab again. That evening she had protested the restriction to her parents, but they sided with Malen. Her father didn't approve of it, but he respected his colleague enough to let the prohibition stand. So, ever the dutiful daughter, she had avoided the forbidden corridor from that day to this.

But this day was different. If it had been any other, she would have taken the longer way around. Her father's message, however, had been urgent, and the corridor by Malen's lab was the quickest route to the bridge. She had only been passing through.

Phoebe frowned. She doubted Malen would accept that as an excuse. Her head rang with the memory of their last encounter, and for the first time, she felt a twinge of fear. Though he had been a colleague of her father from the beginning, Phoebe had never liked the engineer. And over the course of her lifetime, she had gotten the distinct impression that he did not like her much either. Her parents had assured her that Malen cared for her as much as the rest of them, but after talking with Celeste, Phoebe wasn't so sure.

But then, Malen wasn't terribly friendly with any other of the crewmembers, either. Celeste had confided to Phoebe her opinions on the engineer long before; she thought he worked such long hours in his lab to avoid contact with the others. Phoebe had no trouble believing it. His lab was his sanctuary.

And here she stood in the forbidden corridor, almost at the threshold of Malen's lab.

The footsteps drew closer.

Panicking, Phoebe threw herself behind the nearest support strut, hoping it would disguise her long enough for Malen to pass. She did her best to silence her breathing.

"Stupid woman…stupid, stupid, stupid!"

Phoebe frowned. The footsteps had ceased, but in their absence someone stood muttering. It sounded like a man's voice, but it was unnaturally high and shrill. She couldn't tell by the sound whose voice it was, though something tightening in her gut told her that it was just the man she feared. Phoebe closed her eyes and prayed he would leave soon.

"Stupid, _stupid! _Should have known…should have seen it coming…should have been ready. Yes, should have been ready. Stupid, stupid! She knows, she knows…knows, doesn't care. Should have been ready."

The footsteps resumed, and from their strange staccato Phoebe could tell that Malen was pacing.

"Doesn't like it now, does she? Can't interfere…can't hate me anymore. Silly woman. Didn't mean it…didn't want to…had to! She didn't care! Knew…knew death…knew it was coming…no help! No cure! Didn't care! Stupid woman…stupid _child!_"

Phoebe's blood ran cold. Despite her best efforts to keep silent, her breath quickened and her heart began to pound.

Something was very, _very_ wrong.

"Child, child, child…no one cares about anything else. Little miracle, little brat. Stupid woman! Life! Just life! No more…just life…life…"

All at once—to Phoebe's horror—Malen started to laugh.

"No life anymore! No cure… No life for me, no life for her, no life for them!"

The laugh was absolutely inhuman. It was a madman's cackle, giddy and soulless, chilling the very marrow in Phoebe's bones. She knew at the sound that Malen's mind was broken, for no being with a human conscience could laugh like that.

She also realized, with a cold thrill, that she was in very great danger.

The laughter continued, climaxing in a series of hiccupping yelps that sounded like a dying dog. Phoebe screwed her eyes shut. "No life…no life…not for me…no life…not for her…no life…not for them…no life…no life…_no life…no life…_"

Malen broke off abruptly, his pacing ceased. Phoebe could hear her heart pounding in her ears, and she knew then that she had never before understood the meaning of fear. Now she did. It was all-consuming, over-powering, and cold as ice. It flooded every cell, every corner of her being. It constricted her throat and held her heart in its iron claws, squeezing ever more tightly as the footsteps began again—this time, in her direction.

Thud._ Thud._

Thud. _Thud._

Thud…

"_YOU!"_

Phoebe screamed. Malen had found her.

Before he could say anything else, Phoebe bolted. All she could think of was her parents; she wanted to feel their arms around her, protecting her from the mad scientist, to hear their voices comforting her, telling her that everything was going to be all right.

But Malen's inhuman voice brought her to a halt, even as she had her hand on the corridor-door control.

"Little miracle, little Phoebe! Going to your party?" Malen laughed again, coming closer. His face, Phoebe noted, had lost all expression of humanity. She felt her stomach twist in sickening dread. It was pale, crazed and vengeful, the eyes wide and bloodshot. Bits of foam flew from his open and snarling mouth as he spoke. "Why don't you get your mommy to take you to the bridge?"

Phoebe's heart fell. Summoning courage she never knew she had, she lowered her hand from the door control and faced the madman. "What have you done to her?" she demanded, her own voice surprising her with its steadiness.

Malen laughed once more. "She thought she could refuse!" he cackled. "Wouldn't hurt her precious little girl…no, not for me…not for _my_ life. Stupid woman! Wanted me to die! Doesn't care, does she?" The laughter ceased, and Malen looked Phoebe in the eye. For a moment he was silent, and Phoebe could not keep herself from taking a step backwards. Her hand moved towards the door once more. Malen smiled—it was the smile of a man who had lost his grip on sanity. "Oh, she doesn't care now, sweetheart. I made sure of that. She'll never care about anything ever again."

Phoebe's eyes widened as the truth at last began to dawn on her. "NO!" she cried, punching the door control with all the force she could muster. "_No!_"

Malen's only answer was more laughter.

The door slid open and Phoebe backed away from the horrible creature. As soon as she was clear of the hated corridor, she ran.

"Yes, YES! Run along to mommy now!" Malen cried after her. "You'll ALL be joining her soon!"

~o~

Phoebe did not stop to think until she came to the door of her mother's lab. There she paused, heaving in each sobbing breath. Malen's words rang in her head, and she knew she should warn her father. But at the moment, all she could think of was her mother.

"Mom?" she cried, banging out the entry code as fast as she could. "Are you all right?"

Her mother did not answer her.

The door slid open, and Phoebe saw why. In the center of her lab, surrounded by her experiments and pictures of her beloved family, Regina Reyes lay motionless on the floor.

Her neck was broken.

Uncontrollable tears rolled down Phoebe's cheeks at the sight of her mother's dead body. Rage, hate, sorrow and fear swelled inside her, but they were each overcome in a moment by the dark veil of despair. Without thinking she threw herself into the lab, needing only to know that her mother was truly gone. Phoebe fell to the floor at her side and cradled her head.

"Mom?" she tried. Her voice struggled to break above a whisper. "Mommy?"

But there was no response. Regina's eyes were lifeless; her tongue, stilled forever.

She was dead.

Phoebe bent over the body of her mother and wept.

* * *

Darkness came, punctuated occasionally by the distant sound of alarms ringing throughout the ship. Several times the deck was rocked by an explosion, and Phoebe could hear screams from the outer corridors. But she no longer cared. Her mother was dead; her world had ended. Malen said they would all join her soon, and Phoebe did not doubt that he would keep his word. Whatever he had done to sabotage the spacecraft had worked, she knew, for already she could feel the deck tilting towards Earth. If he had interrupted their orbit, gravity would soon bring them all to their graves.

_Let's go, then,_ Phoebe thought bitterly. _Nothing matters anymore._

She felt herself slipping once more into darkness.

"Sweetheart?"

It was Celeste. Phoebe looked up.

"We're going to die, aren't we?" she mumbled.

The older woman did not answer. "You have to come with me now, all right? Your father needs you to come with me."

"He's still alive?" Phoebe asked, a spark of hope ignited in her heart. She had thought Malen had already done away with him.

But again, Celeste did not answer. Instead, she grabbed Phoebe's hand and hauled her to her feet. "Hurry!" she cried. "I'm not going to let you die!"

So they ran—too fast to look back. Phoebe cried silent tears as they traced the familiar passages to Celeste's lab. Once they were inside, the older woman sealed and deadbolted the doors. Now secured, she turned to Phoebe.

"Sweetheart? You need to listen to me. Don't ask questions, all right?"

Dumb with grief, Phoebe nodded.

"Good." Celeste led her over to the cryo-chamber she had been working on for nearly three years. Phoebe knew what it was, but she had not the strength to fight her friend. She obediently took her place on the black steel square, shivering at the touch of the cold metal on her bare feet. "It'll be over in a second," Celeste reassured her. "I promise."

Phoebe swallowed. "What do I do?"

"I'm going to have to close this door in a minute. You're going to feel something cold coming up around your feet. But I need you to keep your eyes on me, all right? This is important. Don't look down."

"Okay."

Celeste closed the door to the chamber and positioned herself over the chamber controls. "Can you hear me?" she asked.

Phoebe nodded.

The tears stood out on her friend's pale face as she readied herself to begin the cryostasis. "Your father…your father said to tell you that he loves you," she said. And with that, the process began. It took all of Phoebe's self-control not to look down. Her hands trembled and she clenched them at her sides, willing herself to stay calm. "Good girl, sweetheart. You're doing…" Celeste began, but a violent shudder from the engines cut her off. Phoebe tumbled forward into the glass wall. "Hold still!" Celeste shrieked, increasing the chamber's speed. "Don't move!"

A heavy, icy liquid pressed against Phoebe's chest, and her hands began trembling again. It continued to rise, inching its way towards her face.

"Okay, love, this is it," Celeste warned. "In a second it will be over your head, and I'm going to need you to do something really hard."

"What?" Phoebe's voice was panicky, though she made no movement to try to escape. Her mind was reeling, but she trusted the older woman.

"I'm going to need you to take a deep breath when the stuff reaches your nose."

"_What?_"

A second, even more violent shudder sent the two reeling. As she stood, Phoebe noticed blood on her friend's forehead. But Celeste acted as if nothing had happened. "You have to breathe! Trust me, sweetheart, you have to!"

"I can't!" Phoebe cried, feeling panic rise almost as quickly as the cryo-liquid.

"You have to!"

"I…" But the clear substance had reached her mouth. Her eyes widened and the fear coursed hot through her veins.

"NO! Breathe! Sweetheart, it's the only way you're going to make it out of this!"

She could not do it. Inky spots flickered in front of her eyes as the liquid covered her head. In a second it had filled the chamber, and Phoebe had run out of air. She reached for the glass, begging Celeste to release her.

But she would not. "_Please__!_" she cried, her voice sounding strange through the heavy liquid that pressed against her eardrums. "Do it for your parents!"

Phoebe stopped struggling.

The wall to Celeste's lab exploded inward in a blinding storm of twisted metal, broken glass and angry flames. Caught off guard, Phoebe threw up her hands to protect her head and torso. Unable to hold her breath any longer, she inhaled deeply…

And everything went black.


End file.
